Tempest Love
by x TaylorMichelle
Summary: [DHr Gradual Fic currently on HIATUS] Fighting, incest, and so many insecurities and doubts...proves to be a monumental fic! It's GRADUAL, not a jump into romance. Rated M, cause idk what might happen as of yet
1. Pain and Envy

**Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. If they were mine, I would be rich and would be spending my free time swimming in a pool of pudding just because I could, not here posting a story which will get me no money whatsoever. Again, I own none of the Harry Potter seriescharacters.**

**A/N: **Well, here's the first chapter of "Tempest Love" and I really hope you guys enjoy it. It's my first story here on FanFic so I'm hoping for a lot of reviews, giving criticisms and support. As I said in the summary, this story is going to be drawn out, so if you're looking for immediate action between Draco and Hermione, I suggest you look at a different FanFic installment.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully soon, seeing as I have this week off due to President's Day, which I can use to work on it.

Anyways, onto "Tempest Love." Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Pain and Envy**

It was a pleasant little place. Well, at least when it wasn't bathed in blood.

A meadow on the outside of a quaint establishment whispered as a soft summer breeze flew through the tall grass. Sparrows sang a mournful song from their perches in the trees, watching the goings-on. Crickets began to play the melody of the sparrows. The sorrowful tune spread from creature to creature, relaying the same hidden message of destruction. None present could decipher its meaning, though they tried.

Everywhere he looked, he could see the result of his brilliant mind, **his** teaching. His plan was working exquistely, far better than he had expected. Blood was everywhere, staining the pale yellow grass of the meadow, leaving a reminder of all the innocents who fought, and a prophecy of those yet to do so. He could still see the terrified looks of the mudbloods, hear their excruciatingly painful cries reverberate through the air. A smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth as he studied the blood bath. He was grinning now.

Death Eaters stood around, examining their victims with smug expressions plastered on their flushed faces. They looked up and stared at you. Why you? You weren't _him_...and yet, you were. Slowly, you stalked around the meadow, scrutinizing your followers decisions and actions of how to dispose of the wizarding filth. Overall, you were pleased, proud of your followers. Some, however, were a bit disappointing to you.

But after all, this _was_ a training ground, and that meant improvement. You weren't worried. The children would improve. Besides, they still had much to learn at school. The Hogwarts students in particular.

You remembered back to your meeting of council a few weeks prior to this night. Your most faithful servants had given their opinions on your age restriction, stating whether (given the circumstances) younger wizards and witches of pureblooded descent should be allowed to come into service at last, though they were not of age. You most valued Malfoy's decision. His son was sure to be promising. However, this was the _only_ time you had ever or will ever ask of their opinions.

Surveying all the dead bodies, the stench becoming more pungent with each passing minute, your heart filled with pride. _You_ had initiated this destruction. Ever since you were younger, you had been fascinated by the Darkness that dwelled within the hearts of all people. It entranced you, and you dove into the magical world with enthusiasm, reading all the books on Dark Arts you could find. There was only power, and you had it all.

You had finished your inspection, and turned to the hooded figure to your right. This was one of the younger generation, who had just been permitted into your service, as a spy. They were not yet worthy to die in the service of you, so they were given less dangerous jobs. And they were not yet worthy of a name for themselves.

The hooded boy was trembling, not out of fear, but of physical exertion, adrenaline. As you turned, the boy dropped to his knees in a grateful bow. "What did you use?" you asked. The boy bowed even lower, and from underneath his hood came a voice, raspy from lack of breath. "Cruciatus curse... I tortured them until they died, Master. All for you!"

A skelatally white hand appeared from underneath your red sleeve. Ghostly white, and thin, your hand moved to the hood below you. With fingers, long and sickly looking, you grabbed the cloak and pulled the hood back. A head of light blonde hair fell out of the hood, shadowing the face of the boy.

Unclenching your fist, you let your head fall back and opened your mouth, letting loose a wild, wicked laugh, high and cold.

* * *

Miles away, Harry woke with a start, his scar burning like it never had before. Eyes watering, he didn't bother to put on his glasses. Very slowly, Harry made his way from his bed, to the bedroom door, wrenching it open with more force than was needed. Everything was blurry, but he had to get to the bathroom. Using the wall as a guide, he made his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could manage. 

Sighing with relief, Harry threw up in the toilet. After a few more dry heaves, he went to the sink and brushed his teeth and rinsed with mouth wash. The meticulously clean bathroom was too bright for Harry's liking, so he turned off the main light. When he did this, the small nightlight came on, casting a blue glow over his thin face, lighting his eyes.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Harry let his mind wander. He hadn't dreamed of Sirius tonight, but of Voldemort. Could he be getting over the death of his godfather? _No_, he thought. It still hurt when he thought about him. So, why then had he dreamed of Voldemort when all through the summer he had been dreaming of his deceased godfather? Why the sudden change?

Harry splashed some cool water on his face and made his way back to bed. Although the room was fairly warm, he pulled the covers tight around his body, shivering. He had _been_ Voldemort, not an innocent bystander, not a spirit watching, but the evil thing itself. He had been in the mind of Voldemort, just like he had been when that snake bit Mr. Wealey last year...

_I'll write Dumbledore in the morning,_ he thought as he drifted into a restless sleep, tormented by dreams of stone arches, veils, and bodiless voices.

Hedwig was waiting for him when he woke up the next morning. Harry shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, gave Hedwig an affectionate stroke and untied the scroll of parchment from her leg. She flew over to her cage and began to gulp some water.

As Harry walked, he unrolled the parchment and recognized Hermione's neat handwriting at once.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I know the Dursley's must be awful, especially after...what happened. But you'll be glad to know that Dumbledore said that you'll be coming to stay very soon. _

That reminded him: he had to write Dumbledore.

_Possibly within the next few days! It'll be so wonderful having you back. I've missed you so much! But onto the subject that I wanted to talk to you about most: Sirius. Now, don't get angry (I know you, Harry). Right this minute you're probably saying to yourself "I'm fine," but you're not, no matter how much you think you are. You've lost someone very close to you and **nobody** is "fine" after something like that. I know I wouldn't be so I'm positive you're not._

_But it wasn't your fault. It doesn't do to dwell on memories past because then you can't move forward._

He remembered something that Professor Dumbledore had said to him in first year, when he caught Harry sitting in front of the Mirror of Erised. It sounded an awful lot like what Hermione was saying. _But it is my fault Sirius is dead, _Harry thought to himself.

_I know you don't like talking about it, but that's the only way to heal, Harry. To say what's on your mind, release the pain. You could get an ulcer if you don't and I hear they're not very pleasant to get rid of. Harry, I only want what's best for you, and that's why I want you to talk to me, or anyone for that matter. Just so you can finally let go of your guilt. You don't deserve to suffer any more. You've suffered enough in your life, more than most grown wizards. I just want to see you smile again, not the false ones you try to pass off as genuine now. A **real** smile, that travels to your beautiful eyes._

_When I see you next, I want to see you smiling. And I'm always here to talk if you ever want to. You're my friend Harry, and I love you, so just know that I'm here._

_Mrs. Weasley wants us in the kitchen; she's handing out cleaning assignments. This place seems to have regrown everything we got rid of last year. See you soon, Harry. Remember what I said._

_With Love,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Ron says hello._

A smile plastered Harry's lips. He felt happy hearing from her, even though he didn't notice the subtle hints Hermione gave him in her letter. He looked around at his dingy bedroom, and the smile was replaced with a frown. The books still stood untouched on the shelf, exactly where they had been even before Harry had been given the room. All of Dudley's old, broken things still occupied areas of the room. These were the things Dudley had absolutely refused to throw out when his mother was spring cleaning. So here they stayed.

The carpet was a light brown, very thin and worn. The desk was still in good shape, but a little dusty, with some of Harry's school books and homework littering its surface. Sticking out of the closet was his trunk, open, with a pair of school robes hanging over the side. Turning, Harry noticed the open window, and walked over, closing it so that the blessed cool air filtering through the vents didn't escape into the heated day outside.

Harry walked over to the desk and put his books and homework neatly on the floor. He then grabbed a spare bit of parchment and wrote a short note to Dumbledore.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I had a very awkward dream last night, kind of like those that I had last year. I dreamed that I was Voldemort, studying the work of his servants. It looked as though they were in a battlefield, but I can't be sure. However there were many dead bodies. I woke up with my scar hurting worse than it ever has before and I got sick. I didn't know if this was significant in any way, but I thought I would let you know. Hope your summer has been going well._

_Harry Potter_

Hedwig was sleeping, so Harry didn't wake her to deliver the note. She should rest. She _did_ come all the way from London, after all.

His stomach rumbled, so he made his way to the door leading to the upstairs hallway. All was eerily quiet, and it bothered him. Normally, Aunt Petunia was already up and bustling around; cleaning, cooking breakfast. The quiet wasn't normal, which meant something was wrong. Harry turned back into his room and grabbed his wand from his trunk; he never left it out in the open on the off chance his uncle would come rampaging into his room and snap it in half.

Slowly, Harry crept back onto the landing of the stairs. Everything was still silent. His heart began to thump rather hard as he began to descend the stairs, jumping the last squeaky step. Listening again, Harry looked around the living room. Nothing was out of place, nothing was happening at all. _Am I just being paranoid? _Harry thought. Shaking his head, he moved on to the hallway leading to the door of the kitchen.

He heard voices coming from behind the door, and he recognized the soft, tired sound of the man talking. "Well, Remus, let me just go and fetch him. We have to leave as soon as possible. And, please..." The man stopped speaking for a moment, then continued, "..fetch Nymphadora from the innards of the refridgerator." A laugh followed this statement and seconds later, Albus Dumbledore stepped forth from the kitchen.

Dumbledore's beard and hair were as long as ever, and even more silver than Harry remembered. Upon seeing Harry standing there, Dumbledore's eyes crinkled in a smile. "I guess I don't have to come and get you after all. You stay here, I'll go and fetch your things." Without another word, Dumbledore disappeared up the stairs.

Harry walked into the kitchen intending to greet Lupin, and Tonks. But what he saw when he stepped over the threshold was his Aunt Petunia. But she wasn't moving. Her eyes were fixated on the pan of bacon on the stove. The fire beneath the pan wasn't moving, wasn't making any noise at all.

Tonks was bent in the fridge, rumaging for something to eat, and Lupin was bent over her, trying to coax her away from the appliance. "Come along, Tonks, Dumbledore will be back in a few minutes with Harry..." "More time for me to eat then!" Tonks retorted, firmly rooted to her spot in front of the refridgerator.

Harry cleared his throat and both Lupin and Tonks turned to look at him. "Oh, hello Harry. Where's Albus?" Lupin asked. Harry noticed that Professor Lupin looked more weary than the last time he had seen him. Lupin had also accumulated a few more scars, and cuts. The bags under his eyes were dark, suggesting little or no sleep. Tonks, however, still had her trademark bubblegum-pink hair and was wearing a muggle Taking Back Sunday shirt and a pair of ripped jeans.

"He's up in my room, getting my things all packed. I didn't know I was leaving so.." "Oh no need to explain," Remus said joyfully. "We did come rather unexpectedly. So how are you, Harry?" Harry knew what Lupin meant. "I'm fine. But can I ask _you_ a question, Professor?" Harry asked. "I'm no longer your professor, Harry. Call me Remus. What is it?" "What's wrong with her? Why isn't she moving?"

It was Tonks that answered. "It's a time-freezing charm. 'Gelo aliquando.' Quite a useful spell. They don't teach it in school though. Everyone would use it to get out of every bit of trouble they got into. Yes sir, you have to be an auror to know that one! And its not easy magic either, so don't you go getting any ideas." Tonks laughed at her own witty answer.

"How are we getting to headquarters? Brooms again?" Harry asked. "Oh, no. Not this time. That's too dangerous. We're taking a portkey," Lupin replied. At that moment, Professor Dumbledore reentered the kitchen, floating Harry's trunk in front of him, then setting it gently on the white vinyl floor.

"Don't worry about Hedwig. I've told her where we're going and she's already flown off. I got your note by the way," he said, holding up what you had written that morning. "We'll talk when we get there. Okay, well if everyone's ready, I suggest we leave now." Dumbledore went to a cabinet and grabbed one of the uglier mugs, and returned to Harry's side.

"Alright Harry. Just keep hold of your trunk, and touch the mug. Remus, Tonks, if you'll touch the mug also...alright. _Portus_." The mug glowed a bright yellow, then returned to its original state. "On the count of three. One, two..three."

Harry felt a tug behind his naval and a few seconds later, they had come to stop in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He let go of his trunk and looked around. Nobody was in the kitchen with them. "Where is everybody?" he asked. "Cleaning, I suppose. And its only Ron, Hermione and the other Weasleys who are here all the time," Tonks said.

"Come on Harry, I'll take you up to your room. You get your own this time." Dumbledore said with a smile. Grabbing his trunk, Harry gave Tonks and Remus a parting wave, and followed the feeble wizard out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Remembering that Sirius' mother threw a racket if it got to loud, Harry tried to be as quiet as a mouse when they reached the front door. "Oh, no need to worry, Harry. Sirius' mother has been moved. It got too frustrating keeping her where she was. The old girl did put up quite a fight, though."

"Where has she been moved to?" Harry asked, feeling sorry for those who now had to listen to her almost constant raving. "She's still here, I'm afraid. She knew too much about the Order, so we couldn't just throw her out could we? No, she's her in a sub-basement we created specifically for the purpose of her confinement. Kreacher is there as well." Dumbledore sighed as he began to climb the old, once shiny wooden stairs.

Following the headmaster up the stairs, Harry lapsed into silence, despair coursing through his veins. Kreacher was foul...when Harry had asked where Sirius was that night that he had went to the Department of Mysteries, Kreacher had lied. That had confirmed his suspicions, so he ran off to "act the hero" again, just like Ron always said he did. And the fact that Kreacher had lied had made Harry believe Sirius _was_ in danger, and _that_ led him to the Department of Mysteries, and that is ultimately what led to Sirius' death. It was _his fault_, and no one could tell him otherwise.

Harry had no idea where Dumbledore was leading him and frankly he didn't care. He was still dwelling on his mistakes, the things he could've done to prevent his godfather from falling behind that veil... Harry was brought out of his reverie when Dumbledore at last stopped, and opened a bedroom door. Harry walked inside first, the old man close behind.

Dragging his trunk to the foot of the bed, Harry wasn't taking in any of the room's beauty, and beautiful it was. However, Dumbledore simply leaned himself against the door-frame, and waited patiently for Harry to get settled. Once he seemed like he was done, the feeble man spoke. "I know this may not be the _best_ time to discuss it, but your dream, Harry..."

Harry looked up into the penetrating blue eyes of his headmaster. "It said in your note that you.._became_Voldemort. How do you mean?" Dumbledore spoke when he knew he had at last gotten Harry's attention. Harry ruffled his hair with his hand. It was an odd habit he had picked up after seeing his father in the pensieve during occlumency lessons last year. And he only did it when he was uncomfortable or nervous. He began his answer. "I'll just tell you what I can remember from the dream and see what comes of it. But I don't remember all of it."

So Harry retold the dream as best as he could, with as many details as possible. When he finished, Dumbledore at last walked into the room and took a seat in a straight-backed wooden chair. He remained silent for a few minutes so Harry assumed he was analyzing the dream. This was when Harry finally took the time to examine his bedroom.

The carpet was a plush cream, surprising if you think about the family that had once lived here. Sunshine spilled in pools of light through a pair of french windows, painted white. There were books about quidditch, history and other various topics set neatly on shelves of rich mahogany. The bed upon which Harry sat was big, soft, and very comfortable, laden with navy and white sheets. All sizes of light blue throw pillows littered the upper half of the bed. It was a very pleasant room, and Harry was very fond of the colors.

"Well Harry, I think you should take up occlumency lessons as soon as possible. I'll talk to Professor Snape about scheduling. However, I can't stay. I'll see you, Harry." And with that, Dumbledore swept out of the room, leaving Harry dumbfounded. Occlumency lessons? With Snape? Again! How was he supposed to get through another session of occlumency with all the pain surrounding Sirius' death constantly making his head spin?

Laying down, Harry saw a few people standing in the open doorway. There was a high-pitched squeal and one of the people came running into the room, hair flying behind her. In seconds, she had thrown herself on top of Harry, hugging him and talking very fast. "Hermione! Let me sit up, then we can talk," Harry said, laughing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, but I've missed you so much!" she said, smiling widely. Another person walked into the room. Harry noticed that Ron had grown another few inches over the summer, and his hair was as red as ever. "How you doin', mate?" asked Ron, eyeing Harry and Hermiones awkward position on the bed.

"Okay, I guess," Harry lied. He wasn't about to tell his best friends that he'd been in complete anguish all throughout the summer. "And I got your letter only this morning, so I didn't have time to write back..." he said to Hermione.

"Oh, that's all right," she said, blushing slightly, "I'd much rather have you here in person, anyway." Unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione, Ron's ears were slowly reddening beneath his hair. "So, erm, Harry...Care for a game of chess?" Ron asked nervously.

In an exasperated voice, Hermione answered him. "Ron! He's only just gotten here! And you want him to go and play _chess_? Surely everyone will want to see him and ask him how he's been doing. And _I_certainly want to talk to him more. We haven't seen him for _ages_. Seriously, Ron, what's gotten into you lately?"

"Just...**_nevermind_**," Ron shouted defeatedly, then left the room, sulking.

"He's been utterly impossible and I've no idea why!" Hermione stated, annoyed. "All summer he's been acting odd. Well, at least quieter than usual." Harry turned his head to look at Hermione and was startled by her appearance. It was somehow different, although he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Her eyes were still the same, a warm honey brown, dark eyelashes. And her hair was a little more tame than it had been in previous years, but she'd learned how to control it in fourth year, so it wasn't _that_ surprising. Her skin was unblemished and glowing in the light, as always. Her lips were pouting...

_NO! This is **Hermione** we're talking about. Focus, Harry, focus._

While Harry was thinking all these things, Hermione was doing something along the same lines. _Oh my gosh, he's gorgeous! What happened to him over the summer? I don't remember his eyes being so bright, or his hair being quite as long...or his lips so pink..._

"So, er, how was your summer, Hermione?" Harry asked, trying to keep his mind occupied. "Alright. Mom and Dad kept talking to me about being a dentist, like them, but I'm really not interested in dentistry. Besides, I don't want to leave the magic world after school, and if I became a dentist..well, where's the magic in that? No, I want to do something worthwhile in the wizarding world."

A few moments of silence became unbearable, but Harry's rumbling stomach saved him from starting up conversation again. "I guess that's the cue to find Mrs. Weasley," Harry laughed, getting up from the bed. Hermione followed suit, and they walked swiftly out into the corridor.

Hermione led the way past shining oak doors to other bedrooms, all the while explaining to Harry that the Order had been a bit busy over the summer and had needed all the rooms available to house the members. "It was a nasty bit of work, let me tell you," she said. "You were lucky you didn't have to take part in it."

They had at last come back to the kitchen downstairs. Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley were all poring over a piece of parchment, whispering in grim voices to one another. Pudgy Mrs. Weasley was in the corner, getting a late breakfast ready for everyone.

When she heard their footsteps, Mrs. Weasley had turned around. "Harry, dear!" she joyfully announced, bounding over to him and giving him a bone crushing hug. "How are you?" A rumble from Harry's stomach answered her. "Ah, hungry, I see? Not to worry, breakfast will be done in a few minutes."

As she returned to the kitchen counter, Harry heard the sizzling of fat, juicy sausages in a frying pan and he eagerly took a seat at the kitchen table.

Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley had all stopped talking by this point to greet Harry and Hermione. "What's that?" Hermione asked, gesturing toward the piece of parchment on the scrubbed wooden table. "The _Daily Prophet_." answered Tonks immediately. "Could I see it please?" Tonks handed the wizard newspaper to Hermione and within minutes, she was lost in the page's contents.

Ron came stumbling into the kitchen, followed by Ginny. She hadn't changed much, Harry noted. Her hair was still a flaming red, still had freckles and was still the youngest Weasley child. "Oh, hello Harry," she said pleasantly, sitting across from him.

"Hi, Ginny. How's Dean? I haven't heard from him in a while." Ron glared at Ginny when Harry brought up Dean. Harry knew perfectly well Ron disapproved of his younger sister dating, but he couldn't do anything to stop it, and he fully well knew it.

"He's fine. I haven't seen him since last year, but we write each other a lot. But with _this_ one always reading over my shoulder," she motioned toward Ron, "I never get to say what I want. He's probably mad at me." Ginny's face fell, but brightened when her mother set a plate of toast, sausage, bacon and eggs in front of her.

Mrs. Weasley then set the same plate of food in front of the others at the scrubbed wooden table. Hermione was still intently focused on the information the newspaper revealed, and didn't notice the irresistable aromas that were wafting up from Mrs. Weasley's cooking.

After another ten minutes of silence only disturbed by the clinking of cutlery, Hermione at last set the paper aside and began to eat the now luke warm food. "Anything interesting?" asked Ginny through a mouthful of eggs.

"Actually, yes. You know those disappearances I've been telling you about?" Ginny nodded. "Well, a few more people have gone missing. And here's the thing that gets me: _all were muggleborn_. And those that disappeared earlier in the summer were muggleborn, too. This prejudice is getting ridiculous and the Ministry is losing hope of finding those that are missing."

Hermione's eyebrows were drawn together in a frown as she nibbled lightly at a sausage. "I JUST DON'T GET IT!" she yelled, slamming her knife and fork down, storming out of the room.

"Poor, dear," Mrs. Weasley cooed, scooping up the dish of uneaten food. "I can only imagine what she's going through." Ron pulled the paper towards him after he finished eating, and began to read the quidditch section which had an article on his favorite team, the Chudley Cannons.

After drinking the last drop of orange juice from his glass, Harry stood up and brought his dishes to the sink where Mrs. Weasley had charmed the plates to clean themselves. "Oh, thank you, dear." she said, as she set them to clean themselves. "You know, I'm glad you're here, Harry. Ron's been in an awkward state and I'm hoping with you here it'll bring him out of it."

"I'll try my best," he replied and went back to the table. Ron had finished with the newspaper and said "Hey, Harry, guess what?" "The Cannons have a good chance of competing for the World Cup this year!" The two boys got up from the table and talk of quidditch kept them occupied until they came to Ron's room.

"I think I'm going to lie down for a bit. Mum's got us cleaning again in a half hour and with all that we've got to do...we need all the rest we can get."

"Alright, see you later," Harry said as he walked down the hall to his room. Harry heard the door click closed behind him and his despair over Sirius returned full blast.

* * *

His disposition wasn't the only one that changed. As soon as his door was locked, Ron went and sat down on the bed, his fingers entangled in his hair, pulling with all his strength. 

_It's always Harry this and Harry that and everything's always about Harry! Why did I ever become friends with him? He **is** a nice person but having someone famous as your best friend? That shouldn't have happened especially not to me. And now he's moving in on Hermione! He **knows** how I feel about her..wait no he doesn't I've never told anyone. But still he should know better! He should know **me** better._

_I really like her. But she likes him. There it is again, Harry always getting everything he wants. Does God just want me to be unhappy? If I could just have Hermione...everything would be okay..._

* * *

After storming out of the kitchen, Hermione had flown up the stairs and into her room. Presently, she was crying on her bedsheets, mulling over what she had read in the paper. It disgusted her. She retched over the side of the bed, then turned herself over so she was lying on her back. 

Her room was pleasant, full of the colors she loved. Rich coppers, earthy browns, glowing creams. It made her feel better being surrounded by such warm decor, but she was lonely. She wanted someone to hold her and comfort her, tell her that it was alright, that she wasn't alone anymore.

She had someone in mind, but Hermione knew he wasn't interested in her. How could he be? He'd never given a hint or sign that he wanted her like she wanted him. Was she destined to live alone all her life?

* * *

A few rooms down from Hermione, Harry was in disarray. He didn't know where to turn. Different scenarios played through his head, all uncomfortably familiar and painful. What could he have done to prevent it? How could he have prevented it? Why did he have to be so stupid? 

Harry didn't know how to jump off the merry-go-round that was his mind. Everytime he tried, it sucked him back onto a pony that took him riding through memories he didn't want to relive; Bellatrix casting that final spell that defeated his godfather, seeing the look on Sirius' face as he fell through the veil...

It was all too much. Harry took a pocket knife from a pocket of his jeans and began cutting open the innocent throw pillows, trying to find comfort in destroying when that was the reason he felt like this in the first place. Everything that caused hurt should cease to exist. He wished he could just...turn the pain off and not feel, lose all emotion. It would be so much simpler.

Finally, Harry slept, even though his bed was covered with feathers.

* * *

**A/N:** There it is! The first chapter. If you want me to update more quickly, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! I'd greatly appreciate any suggestions you have for me, to improve "Tempest Love." Also, if there is anything in particular that you would like to see happen later on in the story, review and let me know and I'll see what I can do. 

Other than that...well, REVIEW!


	2. Too Many Tears

**Disclaimer: **Did I start the Harry Potter series on a napkin in a cafe shop in London? Uh, no. Therefore you all can figure out that I do not own the Harry Potter characters or Hogwarts.

**A/N: **Hey peoples! I might be getting a tattoo soon! My parents are thinking about it because they dont want me to get my bellybutton pierced (ok? weird way of thinking). But I'm soo excited about that. Also this chapter is shorter than the first. My chapters are going to vary in page length from about 7-9 pages.

Anywho, there isn't any Hermione/Draco contact yet, but as I said before this story is going to be drawn out, so just be patient. It'll be worth the wait.

Thank you to **madam loon** for reviewing. You're the only person that reviewed ( but hopefully more people will get interested in "Tempest Love." And can I ask a favor? If you like my story enough, would you please recommend it to some of your friends that read FanFic? The more readers the faster the chapters will be written.

Well, that's enough of my babbling. Here's the latest chapter of "Tempest Love." Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two: Too Many Tears**

Ginny was summoned by her mother and told to go retrieve everyone from their rooms, and bring them to the study on the third floor. Being the good daughter that she was, Ginny did so. As she passed the severed heads of the house elves that had once served the Black family, Ginny began to think about Harry.

She felt bad for him. Who wouldn't? His parents had been murdered before he could even get to know them, and then he had almost been wiped from existance. Then he had to spend ten horrible years with those muggles, always being picked on by his lump of a cousin. And finally, he begins to make some new friends in wizarding school and begins to feel like he belongs somewhere, and You-Know-Who nearly kills him again. Who deserves that? And now, his godfather was dead.

_He doesn't look half-bad considering he's been through so much_, Ginny thought to herself. His eyes were still bright with life, still had the ability to make her feel all warm and fuzzy, and Ginny remembered back to her first year, when she had fancied Harry. A door opened and shut, but she didn't notice. _'His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad...'_ Ginny giggled.

"What's so funny?" someone asked.

She stopped laughing and looked up to see her brother gazing down at her. When she didn't answer right away, Ron repeated the question. "Oh, nothing. Just remembered something from first year. Anyways, Mum wants all of us in the third floor study," Ginny said.

"Alright. I'll go get Harry and Hermione, then." Ron began to walk away, but Ginny said "That's okay. You go on up to the study. I'll grab Harry and Hermione. Mum did send _me_ after all." Ron shrugged and headed up the stairs.

Ginny headed over to Hermione's door and knocked three times. After about a minute, Hermione came to the door; her face was pale and her eyes were red and puffy, and Ginny knew instantly that her friend had been crying.

"Oh, 'Mione, what's wrong?" Ginny asked, reaching out and resting her hand on Hermione's upper arm for a few seconds. She sniffed and replied, "It's nothing, really. I just got a bit upset, that's all. Don't worry about it. But is there something you needed?" When she spoke, Hermione sounded like her nose was stuffed and she looked so helpless...

"Mum wants us all up in the third floor study. But I can tell her you aren't feeling well if you'd rather stay here." A look of gratitude swept over Hermione's face and she launched herself at Ginny, giving her a hug. "Thanks so much, Ginny. I owe you one." "It's no trouble at all," Ginny said, looking at her forlorn friend. "I'll see you at lunch, then." Hermione nodded and she shut the door with a sharp click.

Ginny walked down to Harry's room and knocked as she had on Hermione's door. It took Harry a little longer to answer, but she waited patiently. When he appeared, he looked tired. "Hey, Ginny. What's up?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with the bottom of his palm. _Oh, he looks **so** adorable_, Ginny thought, noting his unruly hair and slightly pink cheeks. _He must have been sleeping._

She repeated the same message she had told Ron and Hermione. "Hermione's not feeling well, so it's just going to be us three," Ginny added, gazing into Harry's gorgeous eyes. "Alright, then," he said, stepping into the hall and closing the bedroom door behind him.

The two friends walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Ginny shot Harry furtive glances every now and again, but he always looked the same. She really wanted to ask him how he was doing, but thought that it would be insensitive to intrude anymore. Everyone had been asking him how he was feeling, and everytime he replied with a defensive 'I'm fine,' or 'I'm ok,' something along those lines.

Instead of prying further, Ginny looked around at the hall they were now in. She had never had the need to come up this far into the house, so she found everything interesting. On the walls hung pictures of the deceased Black's. Many were as unpleasant as Sirius' mother, but others were quite charming. A witch in a midnight blue dress nodded and welcomed the two of them to the Black home. The other paintings began protesting this act of kindness and began to reprimand the pretty brunette.

Harry and Ginny walked on, but she couldn't take the silence any longer. "Harry?" she asked timidly. "Hm?" he mumbled back. "I know you probably don't want to hear it again, but...are you doing alright?" He looked over at her and saw that genuine concern had etched itself firmly on her face. Harry gave her a warm smile, and said "Honestly? I don't know."

They fell into silence again, but Ginny's mind was anything but still. She was thinking of Harry and how he had opened up to her, telling her the truth of how he was feeling. Ginny wished he had gone into it in more depth, but she wasn't going to press him.

Ron was already in the study when they arrived, along with his mother. Next to her were four buckets filled with a solution that smelled strongly of gasoline. Harry scrunched up his face a bit because of the fumes.

It was quite a large room that these three had to clean. Book shelves lined the walls, filled to burst with texts about the Dark Arts, ancient wizards in foreign lands, muggle chemistry. Whomever had used this study certainly had wanted to know as much as possible, and this reminded Ginny of Hermione, lonesome in her bedroom one floor below. There was a large Persian rug that covered most of the wooden floor. It had affixed a lot of dust to itself and Ginny sighed, thinking of all the work that needed to be done in the room.

"All right, you lot come here," Mrs. Weasley chanted, waving the three of them towards her. When they had all gathered around her and the buckets of smelling cleaning solution, Mrs. Weasley began to give them their duties for the day. "Now, this is just a very strong cleaning potion, Harry. You don't need to worry about the fumes, they aren't toxic. But you do need to wear gloves," she handed all three of them a pair, "and be careful not to spill a lot in one place. Now, Ron, since you're the tallest, I want you to take all the books off the shelves and polish the wood, then replace the books." Ron's mouth fell open.

"That'll take ages!" he exclaimed, waving his arms at the bookcases. "Then, you'd better get started," she snapped and turned to Ginny. "Ginny, you'll be doing the curtains. There're doxies in there, so be careful. You know what they're like. And Harry, dear," she said, "I want you clean out those cabinets in the corner and then wash the floor. Just use a levitation charm to keep everything up in the air." Harry nodded in understanding, picked up a bucket and washrag and walked over to the cabinets.

"And if any of you finish early, I want you to help each other out. We need to get this house decontaminated as soon as possible. Lunch will be in about three hours. I'll come fetch you." Mrs. Weasley flashed them a parting smile then closed the doors to the study.

So the three of them got to work, Ron grumbling all the while.

* * *

One floor below, Hermione was sobbing into her pillow, still analyzing the article in the _Prophet_. It just hadn't made any sense.

_The Ministry of Magic have been searching fruitlessly for missing witches and wizards. Unfortuneately, none have been found. "We have all of our best aurors on the case," said Jezill Macintosh, another auror whom has been searching tirelessly for our missing brethren. "I'm a pureblood myself, but I think abducting and possibly murdering muggleborns is taking it to a **ridiculous **extreme."_

_Family members of the missing have been protesting the Minister's methods of searching for their sons, daughters, husbands and wives. "Letters have been coming in daily, complaining to the Minister. He is under a lot of stress with these abductions continuing, and I really don't think he needs more on his shoulders," said the Minister's assistant, Percy Weasley. "He's got enough to be getting on with. The families of the missing do have cause to be upset, but to try and corrupt Ministry procedures? That's nonsensical, and its only delaying us more. If they want their family members found, I suggest to them that they leave the Ministry in peace and let us do our job."_

_The Daily Prophet has been doing it's own research, however, and we have uncovered something the aurors have not. While digging around for information, we came across a pattern that all victims have in common: One of their family members was a servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. For example, Varna Peterson (who was abducted last week) has a brother who is known to be a Death Eater. While in the service of his master, Orion Peterson deliberately defied him by telling his family to run, that abductions of muggleborns were about to begin. We suspect, that as punishment, You-Know-Who abducted his sister in an attempt to show Orion his wrong-doing, and to teach him to never disobey the Dark Lord again. Muggleborns don't know what they're up against._

_The Prophet cannot assure anyone protection. All we can do is advise you all to take extra precautions at night, when the abductions are known to occur. We're wishing those missing a safe return to their families. (For more information on the abductions, and a list of those missing, turn to pages five and six.)_

Hermione had read all of the articles, and found prejudice in each one against muggleborns, no matter how subtle it may have been. _The Sorting Hat was right last year,_ she thought, gazing at a blank wall. _Inter-house companionship - yeah, right. Like those Slytherins would ever want to consort with muggleborns or halfbloods..._

This revelation only made her cry harder. Why did she care so much?

* * *

"Where's Hermione? Didn't you go and get her?" Ron had been dusting off one of the bookshelves when he finally realized that Hermione was not among them. Considering how much time they spent together, you would think that he'd have felt the abscence of her presence long before now, but the work had kept him fairly busy.

"Yes I _did_ go and get her. But she wasn't feeling well at all so I told her I'd let Mum know." As she spoke these words, she remembered that she hadn't told her mother where Hermione was. "I'm surprised Mum didn't ask about her. Normally she's so nosey about everything."

Harry hadn't said a word the entire time they had been working. He'd been silently cleaning out the cabinet in the corner, carefully replacing the items that weren't dangerous back in the glass escritoire. At this, Harry inquired, "Did she say what was wrong?"

"I'm afraid not. And she looked so distraught, I didn't want to get her even more fussed by having her explain her problems. She's best left alone, if you ask me. She'll get through it all right."

"Maybe I should go and see what's up. I _can_ be quite comforting at times and she may need a shoulder..." Ron said feebly, climbing down from the ladder on which he had been perched.

"Oh no you don't!" Ginny asserted. "You're just trying to get out of your share of the work, and you know it! You don't really want to see what you can do for Hermione. And besides, men don't have as good a sense about emotions as we women do and if _anyone_ were going to help 'Mione it would be me. But I'm not leaving am I? So get back to work or I'll have Mom all over you."

Ron hastily climbed back up the ladder and got back to work. Meanwhile in his corner, Harry had discovered a battered photo album, with the Black crest and name enscribed in gold upon it. He knew he shouldn't dally about when there was work to be done, but his curiousity got the better of him, and he slowly opened the dusty volume.

There were tabs on the sides of pages, foretelling the year, and occassion. Harry first read the inscription on the inner cover:

_We present this album to the noble house of Black, whom have been so gracious to our family. _

It was signed 'The Malfoy family.'

Harry flipped to a page that was tabbed with 'Sirius' and was surprised by what he saw. It was his godfather as a baby. He was wriggling and squalling, tears coming down his face. But when he opened his eyes and saw Harry, Baby Sirius plastered a smile on his lips and began to giggle silently in the photo.

Tears came to Harry's own eyes, but he held them back, a fierce determination to remain collected creating a dam. Underneath that photo was one of Sirius a few years older, about three or four, opening a birthday present. It was a toy broomstick and Harry laughed when Sirius toppled off on his first try on it.

He continued to look at the pictures, tears still stinging his eyes, blurring his vision. He finally came to the last of the photos of his godfather, and to the beginning of a section called 'The Malfoys.' The first picture was rather large, with a younger Lucius and Narcissa, and a man Harry didn't recognize. Narcissa's stomach was protruding under her summer dress, and Harry knew that little Draco was residing in his mother's womb.

However, he didn't flip to any of the other pictures and only skimmed the Malfoy photo. He tossed it aside, while cleaning. But now, the cleaning solution was diluted with his free flowing tears...

* * *

"Well, Rookwood. What have you to say for yourself?" A trembling figure kneeled before Voldemort, robes torn in random places. "M-master, I apologize profusely for my behavior. I-I-I shouldn't have acted upon m-my impulses."

"_Crucio_," whispered Lord Voldemort, before Augustus Rookwood had a chance to prepare himself for the pain. His scream pierced the still night air, and birds took flight at the sound. The Dark Lord smiled at the sight of the twitching body that lay before him. Seeing pain had always pleased him. He lifted his wand, and Rookwood stopped screaming.

"Maybe now, you will understand you do not murder because you have _impulses_. You are my servant and you obey my commands."

"Yes, Master, I understand, Master," Rookwood said breathlessly.

"Now, go fetch Lucius for me." The shaking Rookwood got to his feet, bowed to Voldemort and tottered away in search of Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort, however stayed where he was, surveying the beautiful scene before him.

They had had another training session for the new recruits that night, and the pile of remains was about to be lit. The Death Eaters surrounding it were laughing jovially. Though the Dark Lord did not approve of alleviation in his presence, he allowed it. He knew how others thought about such things, and by allowing them to be jubilant every now and again, they would believe he wasn't as bad as others thought, and that would gain and preserve their loyalty to him.

From behind him came a strong voice. "You asked for me, Master." Voldemort slowly turned and gazed upon the head of one of his most loyal servants. Lucius' head was bowed in respect, but Voldemort said "You may raise your head, Lucius." As Mr. Malfoy raised his head to look at the Dark Lord, he requested "What is your wish, my Lord?"

"Is he ready?" Voldemort asked. Lucius stuttered, and then answered. "He may need a bit more work, but he is a promising youth. However, it is not my judgement that is esteemed, but yours." Voldemort smiled. "Bring him to me."

* * *

"Alright, dearies, lunch time!" Mrs. Weasley had returned to the study, levitating a tray of sandwiches in front of her. "_Finally_," Ron groaned, and jumped off the ladder. "I'm starving."

"It seems like you're always starving," Ginny teased, grabbing a sandwich for herself. While the Weasley children were eating their lunch, Harry hadn't moved from his corner. He was no longer crying, but he kept losing himself in thoughts of his godfather and he hadn't noticed that Mrs. Weasley had brought lunch.

"Harry, dear, go get some food. You can finish this later." Mrs. Weasley's voice was oddly low and consoling, like she knew what Harry had been thinking about. Of course, it wasn't rocket science to figure out exactly what it was that occupied his mind. Harry got slowly to his feet and walked over to the table where Mrs. Weasley had set the plate of food.

Ginny gave him a concerned look, but didn't ask any questions. Ron didn't notice Harry at all, he was too busy stuffing his mouth full of the sandwiches. "Wud dwee ga doo til?" Ron asked his mother. "Ron! You know better than to talk with your mouth full."

Swallowing, Ron asked, "What do we gotta do still?" "Looks like you're just washing the floors. Harry's almost finished with the cabinet and once thats done, you can all do the floors. But I must be getting off. When you're done come down to the kitchen." She left again, and silence reigned over the three friends.

Once the plate was empty, Ron and Ginny helped Harry finish cleaning out the glass case. "Woah, there's some wicked stuff in here," Ron exclaimed, picking up a severed talon which had the tendon sticking out. He pulled it and the talon clenched together as if it were clutching a fish. "Ron, thats disgusting!" Ginny squealed, backing away from her brother. "Come on, guys, lets just get this bloody room finished," Harry said agitatedly, dusting off a small box decorated in gold trimming.

For the next half-hour, they worked in silence. The occassional grunt or deep intake of breath was heard, but nothing was said to stimulate conversation. Ginny was up against the wall, keeping everything in the air while the two boys scrubbed the floor.

After they'd finished, the three of them sauntered down to the kitchen, which was quite full. Harry recognized a few of the people that were seated at the table: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, his glass eye spinning in it's socket, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mr. Weasley and other members of the Order. Hermione was there too. Her eyes were still a bit puffy from crying, but she looked almost normal besides.

Albus Dumbledore was speaking to Professor Snape in hushed tones. Snape looked absolutely livid, and was disagreeing with the headmaster profusely. They all caught bits of the conversation. "This isn't rational!" Snape was saying, his black eyes glowing maliciously. "Now, Severus," Dumbledore was saying, but Snape cut him off. "You're going to regret this, Albus!" And he swept out of the kitchen.

Professor Dumbledore turned around and spotted Hary, Hermione and Ron. "Harry, Hermione, Ron, if you wouldn't mind stepping up here please." They glanced at one another with baffled looks on their faces, and slowly made their way up to where Dumbledore was standing.

To the room at large, Dumbledore said, "Thank you all for coming. The Induction Ceremony is about to begin." He clapped his hands and the lights fell; candles appeared in the air and lighted themselves, radiating a pleasant golden glow upon the faces of the observers. Moody's eye was spinning faster than ever and anticipation was etched in every wrinkle and shadow of everyone's face.

A slow hum began to fill the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Dumbledore's face was crinkled in a smile, and Mrs. Weasley was bouncing up and down next to her husband. "Oh, look at our little Ronniekins!" she squealed in his ear, and Ron's own ears reddened. Dumbledore began to speak.

"We are all a part of the resistance against Lord Voldemort, and only united with all of our wizarding brethren shall we succeed in conquering the mounting evil. The young and the old, we all have something to contribute to the effort of the Order, and it is with this in mind that we would like to invite you Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley, to become members in the fight against Voldemort; to become members of the Order of The Phoenix."

All three friends' mouths dropped open. Could they believe what they were hearing? Applause echoed loudly from everywhere in the kitchen, and Ron's mother dissolved in tears, his father patting her on the back, trying to calm her down, but glowing with pride himself.

"Do you accept this offer?" Dumbledore asked, after a minute. Hermione bit her lip apprehensively. She could get killed and she was still so young...but Harry jumped at the chance. "I would be honored." _This is my chance to avenge Sirius' death, _he thought. Another round of applause rang throughout the room, and appreciative whistles were heard every few seconds.

"I'm in," said Ron, and his mother collapsed in a new wave of tears onto the stone floor. "Come now, Molly," said Mr. Weasley, but there was a glint of tears in his eyes as well. The applause continued and Hermione still had yet to come forward. Her mind was reeling. _I want to do something good for the entire wizarding community, but I'm too young to die and my parents...oh, what would Mum and Dad say?_

"Hermione?" Harry gave her a look that told her straight away that he couldn't believe she even had to think about it. She shouldn't _have_ to think about it. "I'd be glad t-to be of help to the Order," Hermione finally said after a few more seconds in a very small voice. She was about to burst into tears again, she knew it, but she refused to break down in front of all these people at a ceremony to conscript her into an elite group that was organized to fight the Dark Lord. She repelled the urge to let the tears slide down her cheeks and flashed a warm smile.

"Welcome to the Order," Dumbledore said. He waved his hand and three silver pins appeared in the air. "Unlike Voldemort, we show that we are members of the Order by wearing our pins, not tattooing skin." He smiled and said, "Let the celebration begin!"

* * *

"Here he is, my Lord." Lucius' voice echoed from behind Voldemort. He turned and was pleased to see them both. "You are free to go, Lucius." Voldemort hissed, staring at the boy. "As you wish, my Lord." Lucius whipped around and walked over to the pile of slowly rotting flesh that was about to be set ablaze.

"Walk with me," the Dark Lord commanded, turning away from the bonfire. "How old are you. boy?" "Sixteen, seventeen next month, my Lord." The two of them were walking along the edge of a forest of deciduous trees, crunching leaves under their feet. "Why do you wish to come into my service?" Voldemort asked. No answer came from beneath the hood. "Very good, my son. You know that there is no answer that would be a sufficient explanation. I'm impressed."

"Thank you, my Lord." Silence accompanied them to the edge of the forest, at which point Voldemort turned and gazed upon the burning and blackening remains of the the mudblood filth. "You may lower your hood. I'd like to speak with you face to face." The boy slowly lowered his hood and a blonde head of hair was reflected by the light of the moon.

"If you are ready to serve me faithfully, I have a job for you." "I am ready, Master. I'll do anything you wish!" the boy said excitedley. "I want you to inform me of the happenings at Hogwarts. Especially of Harry Potter's activities. He must not foil my plans again. Do you understand?" Voldemort asked in his silkily dangerous voice.

"Yes, my Lord. I understand."

"Go and enjoy yourself at the fire," the Dark Lord ordered, and the blonde boy gave a last grateful bow and hurried off to the festivities surrounding the charring flesh. The sunset was casting off colors of blood, and it only improved the Dark Lord's mood as he himself trudged over to the flaming pile of bodies.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I hope you liked the chapter! Any suggestions or criticisms would be welcome. Chapter three should be up next Sunday, but until then, please review and recommend to friends! 


	3. Some Encounters Bring Unwanted Memories

**Disclaimer: **No funny message to say that I don't own Harry Potter or other related things...but I don't. So there.

**A/N:** Well although I don't have many readers/reviewers at this point, I'll still be updating when I can. Sorry it's taken so long for me to get this third chapter up but my theater class has been putting a lot of strain on me and I've just been exhausted. Two weeks of 3-9 rehearsals isn't that great for my health, you know. But I'm now pretty much done for the year so hopefully I'll be able to write a bit more.

As for my story: I know it says DMHG romance, but like I said in previous AN's, it's going to be drawn out. I don't like jumping right into romance, and I want to establish a firm ground on which the characters will be based. Just be patient. It'll all be worth it in the end. I promise.

Any who, enjoy the chapter! R&R!

* * *

The rest of the week passed in a blurr. The four teenagers were still cleaning, and the excitement of being allowed into the Order had subsided. Ron continued to brood about Harry and Hermione's strengthening friendship, leaving him out. Every now and again, he would go to either of their rooms and find them both talking. Although they always invited him to join them when such an occurrence happened, he'd only turn his back and walk away. They should ask for his company _before_ getting together and talking, not in the midst of it.

His temper was becoming harder and harder to control as well. Just the sight of them sitting side-by-side made Ron's blood boil. _He_ should be in Harry's place, to be talking and laughing with Hermione, to be the object of her affection. But there was nothing he could do about the current situation without revealing his feelings for Hermione. No one knew Ron better than Ginny, and this is why she went after him one night following dinner. She had seen him glaring daggers at Harry and Hermione throughout the entire meal as they talked about unimportant things, and she wanted to know why.

"Ron!" Ginny ran after her older brother, but faltered when he turned to face her. His eyes were alight with anger that she had never before seen reside in her brother. And it frightened her. "What?" he snarled. "Are you here to laugh in my face?" He was livid, and Ginny became unsure as to whether or not she should pry into her brother's problems. But she hated seeing him like this, so she bravely asked "It's Hermione and Harry, isn't it?"

Ron said nothing, merely stared at his sister. "You're jealous, aren't you?" She grew quiet again, staring at her shoes. Ron still didn't move, but didn't scream in frustration either. Instead, he took a few deep breaths and said in a voice of determined calm, "Ginny, I don't want to talk right now, okay?" He turned his back, but Ginny stopped him. She had already begun her journey into the pits of her brother's anger, and there was no turning back now that she had. "Well maybe it's time you _do_ talk about it. It'll only get worse if you don't. And who else do you have to turn to?"

Ron's back was still to her, but Ginny saw the tension ease slowly from them. "Alright," he said. "But you have to promise not to say anything to anyone. I mean _anyone_. Not mum, not Luna, and especially not Hermione or Harry. Okay?" Ginny screwed an appalled look on her face and replied, "Do you really think I'd do that? I'm not that insensitive to your feelings, Ron."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice full of shame. Ron ushered his sister into one of the unused bedrooms, then closed and securely locked the door. A few minutes passed in silence, neither wanting to be the first to speak. "Well?" Ginny asked after the quiet became unbearable. "You're right," Ron confessed. "I _am_ jealous. Do you have any idea how long I've had feeling for Hermione?" When Ginny shook her head, Ron began again, not stopping until he'd gotten out all he'd wanted to say.

"Since first year when she was almost killed by that troll. She just looked so scared and helpless and there was something in her eye that made me want and need to protect her. When I got that club in the air I felt like I would be her hero. I saved her life! I knew then that I could protect her if anything put her in danger. And then we got closer during the year and when we went after the stone, I was a knight. I thought she would see me as one. And then in second year, when she'd been petrified...I didn't know what I would do. What if I couldn't ever hear her laugh again, or see her smile, even argue with her about homework and other things? I thought I'd lost her Ginny." He paused for a moment, just a few seconds, then continued. "Third year I liked her more than ever. Fourth year... when I saw her dancing with Krum...it was almost more than I could stand. I wanted to rip him limb from limb. How could she have gone with him when I was right there in front of her! I know I could have changed the problem by just asking her in the first place but I wasn't about to admit that I liked her. It would be too embarrassing. Malfoy would've had a field day when he found out and we both get enough from him. I didn't want to put her through that. And just.." He began to curse under his breath very quickly while pacing the room, running his hands through his hair. "Six years, Ginny. And now Harry is in the spotlight _again_, just like always. And Hermione fancies him when I've been here all along, waiting for her to notice me."

Ginny bit her lip, unsure of what to say. The two siblings were very close to one another in age and were good friends. But even so, Ginny had never seen her brother in such a state as he was in now. His emotions might put fire to something that wasn't meant to burn him at all. "Have you talked to them at all?" she asked cautiously.

"How can you even ask that!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "You think I can just go up to Harry and be civil while asking him about his feelings for Hermione when you damn know I can barely control myself ranting about it to you? 'Yeah, Harry, I was just wondering...Are you and Hermione an item now? Because if you are, I'd appreciate it if you broke it off. Why you ask? Because I'm stark raving mad about her!' How could I say that Ginny? They'd both hate me."

They lapsed into silence again; the only sounds were of Ron's breathing and continual pacing. "I could talk to Hermione," Ginny finally offered. "We talk about this kind of thing all the time." Ron didn't answer immediately, but finally nodded in agreement. "Thanks, Gin, I owe you one. But remember: not a word gets out that we talked about this." Ginny nodded in understanding. Then Ron left the room, shoulders hunched, with one last look at his sister. She followed him about twenty minutes later after a lot of heavy thinking.

* * *

Three days before they were to return to Hogwarts, Mrs. Weasley took the four friends to Diagon Alley so they could get all needed supplies for the upcoming year. After stopping at the wizarding bank, Gringotts, Harry, Ron, and Hermione separated themselves from the two redheaded women who went off in search of potions ingredients. The Golden Trio then wandered up and down the high street, stopping at random shops admiring the window displays, going into other to purchase needed supplies. After about an hour, the three friends headed to Flourish and Blotts where they would meet up with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Hermione said to Harry and Ron. "I'm just going to get my new arithmancy book. Meet you back her, alright?" The boys nodded and headed off in the opposite direction. Within five minutes, Hermione had found the Arithmancy section and her needed book, "Rydell's Advanced Arithmancy." She was soon immersed in complex equations; so much so that she didn't realize she had a visitor with her among the thick and small volumes.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the little miss perfect mudblood." He saw her shoulders tense at once, and a smirk crept up his face. "Where's scar head and the weasel? They probably got sick of chumming around with a sorry excuse of a witch like you. I don't blame them for leaving you." Draco Malfoy quit talking as she slowly turned to face him.

"Malfoy," she said, nodding civilly to him. With a piercing glare, she turned her back to him once again, trying to ignore the feeling of hatred that was making itself known in the pit of her stomach. "Aw, the little mudblood's afraid to stay anywhere near big, bad Draco Malfoy." He laughed. "I must applaud your parents, though, Granger. They know their place. And they taught you right. They taught you to fear those who are superior to you, like myself."

_Keep your head on Hermione. He's only trying to provoke you. Be the bigger person. Don't succumb to his nonsense. You're an intelligent witch, Hermione, don't let him tell you otherwise._

She tentatively looked over her shoulder, wondering where the little ferret had gone off to. She saw him stooping down, running his finger along the glossy spines of arithmancy books, looking for the same volume that Hermione was holding in her hands. He may be a pompous little git, but he was anything but stupid. In fact, he was just below Hermione in academic standings for their year.

"Well, Malfoy, I happen to disagree with you on which of us is superior to the other. _I'm_ not the offspring of a Death Eater." She managed to keep her voice calm and firm while speaking to him. But at the mention of Death Eaters, Draco's eyes hardened and his smirk disappeared.

"I'm disappointed in you, Granger. I always thought you were smarter than you're showing now... Of course my father is a Death Eater. But with that comes a power you can't even begin to imagine." He began to advance on Hermione, malice burning in his steely gray eyes, trademark smirk plastered on his lips. Hermione backed into a bookshelf as he continued to move closer, platinum blonde hair falling into his eyes.

"And I have access to that power whenever I wish." He was still a few feet away from her and he now took some time to examine how she had changed over the holidays. Her honey brown eyes were still the same as they had been the year before, the intelligence still shining through. The tangled bush of auburn hair was no longer a mane of frizz, but a head of shining, silky waves and soft curls that complimented her facial structure and eye color. She'd grown an inch or two over the summer and he skirt showed off long, shapely legs. She'd filled out in some other areas too (as her blouse revealed), and Draco couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of her.

And although Hermione despised Malfoy, she was still a teenage girl and took notice of the strong arms protruding from his black t-shirt. His shoulders were broad and toned and she could see very faint outlines of newly formed abs and pectorals. The steel gray of his eyes was still piercing and filled with disgust as he looked upon her, the muggleborn...but she noticed something there that never had resided in his eyes while he gazed upon her and she recognized it as hunger; a very adult hunger that she knew all too well from her experiences that summer. And as he continued toward her, the look of desire in his eyes, her focus clouded and she began to let herself remember...

The day was warm and sunny, birds chirping happily in their nests and a soft breeze flirted with the trees and grass, blowing them here and there so tenderly. She had been outside lounging in the sun, hoping to get a base tan from the feeble shafts of sunlight before the intense UV rays shone themselves in all their glory. She took a short dip into her pool and emerged shimmering and comfortably cooler. However, she didn't have a towel out with her. She walked across the newly redone patio and into the Granger's sunroom and called for her father, asking for a towel.

Goose bumps began to cover her arms and legs as the air conditioning hit her wet body. After a few minutes, her father entered the sunroom with a fluffy towel in hand, an odd smile upon his face. "Hey, honey. Nice out isn't it?" He wrapped the towel around her shoulders and held her close, just like he always did. But there was something different about the way he had encased her in his arms. It wasn't natural and Hermione began to feel uncomfortable.

"I-I think I'll go back outside. I'll dry off pretty quickly, maybe get a bit more sun. Thank you for the towel, Dad." She began to pull away from her father, but he just pulled her in closer and replied "No, I think you've had enough sun for today. Time to dry off too." He slid the towel off her arms and began to wipe down her body, all the while speaking as if his behavior meant nothing.

"You're a very pretty girl, Hermione. Quite the little beauty. And I have to say you've blossomed quite nicely." With this, he took the towel and brought it, along with his hand, over her breasts. She was in shock and began to shake uncontrollably. "Aw, you poor thing," her father said, now taking the towel between her legs. "You're shivering, you're so cold. We must get you out of this wet bathing suit."

Mr. Granger then lifted his daughter into his arms and into her room where he set her down beside her bed. "Now to get you out of these wet things." Hermione couldn't make a sound, she couldn't move no matter how hard she tried. How could this be happening to her? And with her _father!_Her mind clouded over as her father began to undress her, stripping off her bathing suit. Once he was finished, he just stood there, and stared.

"You truly are a beautiful girl, Hermione," and he approached her, hunger burning in his eyes. He traced his thumb along her jaw-line and continued. "I've always known you'd be pretty. Always. And I couldn't wait until you were older, and had curves that I could caress," He moved his hand down her neck towards her chest; "that I could kiss."

He kissed her, and Hermione was repulsed, but could not move. She was too terrified, too ashamed. Once again, he scooped her into his arms and put her on the bed, still talking while undressing himself. "I've waited a long time for this, Hermione. And I know that this will be ecstasy for the both of us." He climbed on to the bed; "I love you, my beautiful daughter." He kissed her forehead, and then the nightmare began…

The eyes of Draco Malfoy were now inches away from her own honey brown ones, and she remembered the pain, the emotional roller coaster of that summer. _Oh please, God, please, not again. _She turned her head away from him, away from him, shutting her eyes tight. A few seconds later she felt a brush of skin against her cheek and she shivered, as a few hairs were moved off her face.

"That's right, Granger. You should be afraid of me." Malfoy whispered this softly into her ear, and then let her hair drop. When she next opened her eyes, he was gone.

"What took you so long, 'Mione?" Ron and Harry were waiting for her a few minutes later near the entrance, all books paid for. They both had quizzical looks on their faces as she dashed past them, bag in hand.

"I think we should hurry up and get the rest of our things and then head back. It is getting a bit late you know," Hermione replied, easily dodging the subject. She shot out the door of Flourish and Blotts, not looking back for fear of seeing those steely gray eyes.

"Wonder what's gotten her in such a state," Ron said aside to Harry, while they followed her out into the light of the alley. "Hermione! Come back! We've got to wait for Mum and Ginny!" Ron called out to Hermione's back, but to no avail. Her bushy head disappeared in the crowd. Frantically, she searched for a place where she could be alone, to remember, to forget, and above all, to cry.

Although she had been deeply upset by her father's behavior, she had been too shaken to weep. How could he have done that to her? His own flesh and blood? It was a disgusting thing to think about in Hermione's mind and she let herself flash back to after is was over.

"Don't tell your mother about this, Hermione. She wouldn't understand." _I don't understand it myself,_ Hermione thought. "I know you must be very confused, dear, but please don't worry. It's perfectly acceptable."

For days after she couldn't quit thinking about it, how he'd violated her so incredibly, without her consent, without caring what she thought or felt. He was her father for God's sake! How could he just not care about her feelings? So she acted like nothing had happened, like it would never happen again, even though in the back of her mind she knew it would. Her mother didn't notice a thing. Mr. Granger was the same as he had always been.

But Hermione would never let herself be in the same room alone with him anymore. Ever since the "incident" as she had come to call it, she had sensed a dark aura about her father which unnerved her more than the possibility of it happening again. He was dark and cold now, with no fatherly warmth present. He wasn't her father anymore, and she didn't think he ever could be.

And now…Hermione let the dam in front of her eyes break. And she cried.

"Oh, thank the heavens!" Mrs. Weasley came bustling up to the little corner where Hermione had secluded herself from the rest of the witches and wizards congregating in Diagon Alley. "I thought we'd lost you and you'd disappeared somewhere. Good thing we found you. Time to get back…"

"Alright, can I just have a minute?" She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "I'll be okay," she continued, sensing Mrs. Weasley stiffen at the sound of a sniffle. "Just some allergies."

"Oh. Well okay then. Just a minute though. It is getting a tad late, and I still have to cook dinner!"

In a few seconds however, the star pupil of Gryffindor house regained her composure and stood up, following her friends and Mrs. Weasley back in to the Leaky Cauldron fireplace.

* * *

**AN:** So I hope you liked this chapter! Reviews and criticism are welcomed! Hopefully I'll have a good train of thought for my next chapter and it'll be up fairly soon. But if you read this and would like me to update faster, review help. Any ideas are also welcome.

and heres a quote i found absolutely adorable: So let's be like Romeo & Juliet and fall in love...just to die...


	4. Insult Me, Break Me

**Disclaimer: Nope. None of it is mine. JK Rowling holds alllllll the glory.**

**AN: **I thought that I'd do one of those "what-happened-last-time" sort of things, just so that you all know where we left off and you don't start the chapter off in the dark.

"Oh, thank the heavens!" Mrs. Weasley came bustling up to the little corner where Hermione had secluded herself from the rest of the witches and wizards congregating in Diagon Alley. "I thought we'd lost you and you'd disappeared somewhere. Good thing we found you. Time to get back…"

"Alright, can I just have a minute?" She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "I'll be okay," she continued, sensing Mrs. Weasley stiffen at the sound of a sniffle. "Just some allergies."

"Oh. Well okay then. Just a minute though. It is getting a tad late, and I still have to cook dinner!"

In a few seconds however, the star pupil of Gryffindor house regained her composure and stood up, following her friends and Mrs. Weasley back in to the Leaky Cauldron fireplace.

xXx

_The room was dank and dark. What little illumination there was bounced off the stone walls eerily. A black leather couch stood alone in the middle of the large, empty chamber, beckoning the Slytherin Prince forward. As the boy got closer to the center of the room his pulse quickened while his breath shortened. Beads of perspiration began to accumulate above his brow and upper lip. Why was he so nervous? So frightened of what lay ahead? _

_Shadows appeared out of no where, creating illusions in one's mind of nonexistent enemies. The faint sound of dripping water was all that could be heard above his ragged breathing. The couch was mere feet away, when a female voice rang out from behind the platinum haired boy, making him spin and draw his wand._

_The sight that met Draco's eyes wasn't what he had expected in the least; before him stood one of the most exquisite women he had ever laid his eyes on in his entire sixteen years of life. The woman was young, yet had an air of maturity about her. A sense of mystery and peculiarity seeped from her very being, and it intrigued young Malfoy to walk closer to the woman._

_She was staring back into his steely gray eyes just as intently as he was staring into her honey browns. Within her warm, amber orbs, Draco saw a desire he knew not of, a desire that was burning itself into embers and ashes with every passing moment. She wanted him. He knew it. And in turn, he studied her as well, took in every inch of this mystifying woman._

_She was wearing a form-fitting black leather skirt, which was complimented by a few thin metal chains and buckles. Her shapely legs were easily revealed, given the length of the skirt. Her top was an off-the-shoulder green velvet sweater. It clung to her body, allowing her slightly curvaceous form to show. Soft, loose, brown curls cascaded down her back, shining under the bit of light provided by a few lamps._

_He had not yet finished his examination of this magnificent creature when she said, "I see you looking, you know." _

_Embarrassed, Draco turned away and made his way over to the couch. He immediately heard her footsteps following him, and his heart rate became even more rapid. A few seconds later, she had turned him around to face her and had wrapped her petite arms around his neck in an embrace._

"_No need to be shy," she said, her head resting in the crook of his neck. But she lifted it up next to his ear as she spoke her next few words: "I only bite if you want me to." Taken by surprise, Draco was even more shocked when this woman pushed him back onto the couch and straddled him, pinned him down._

"_What are you doing!" Draco exclaimed. However, he was still a teenage boy. He was in no rush to get this stunning woman off of him._

"_You tell me." She grinned, and began to take off his shirt, very slowly and seductively. _

_Draco continued to stare at the woman and realization of her identity let itself be shown in the widening of his eyes._

"_You're — ! " he started, but she cut him off, and giggled. "I know who I am, silly." _

_And he faded back into reality._

xXx

"Wake up! Wake up, Draco! We need to get to King's Cross Station within a half an hour."

Narcissa Malfoy's voice was high pitched and panicky as it awoke her only child on September first. Normally a very organized and self-controlled woman, it was odd to see her behaving in such a non-Malfoy fashion. Immediately after opening his eyes, Draco began to question his mother because something was obviously wrong.

"What's wrong, Mother? What's the hurry?" His voice was still full of the sound of weariness and sleep, soft and barely audible. "Your father…what was he thinking! There was a big fiasco this morning and it just has us way off schedule…now get up, get dressed and get your things or else you'll miss the train!"

xXx

Opening her eyes to Mrs. Weasley's wakeup call, Hermione yawned in content. She had slept incredibly well, and was looking forward to the day ahead, for today was September first, and that meant getting on the Hogwarts Express back to school. She couldn't wait. Hermione slowly climbed out of bed, stretching her muscles with another big yawn. She could smell breakfast and headed to the stairs as quick as she could, ready to fill herself with toast, bacon, eggs, and anything else that happened to be waiting for her in the kitchen.

"Morning," she said to the room at large once she finished descending the rickety staircase. "Well good morning to you too, deary," Mrs. Weasley replied, placing a plate of food on the table in Hermione's usual place. "Oh, Arthur, at least grab some toast on your way out! You shouldn't be going on an empty stomach."

Mr. Weasley had been rushing around the house since five that morning, ruffled and anxious. An owl from the Ministry had specified he be in to work earlier than usual:

_Mr. Weasley,_

_We request that you please come into work precisely two hours earlier than usual (7:30). An inquiry is being held against a certain Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and the Minister would appreciate it if all who were involved in the muggleborn disappearance case were present. No more information can be disclosed at this time, but the Minister has promised to tell us what exactly has been going on once everyone has arrived. See you soon!_

_Percy Weasley_

_Percy Weasley, _

_Assistant to the Minister of Magic_

"I will, Molly, I will, but I'm in a bit of a rush if you couldn't tell," Mr. Weasley snapped. "No need to get in a snit with me!" Mrs. Weasley replied.

Hermione tried rather hard to stifle a giggle that was making itself known in her throat. Really, they may bicker at each other once in a while, but Ron's parents were dreadfully adorable, Mr. Weasley being so tall while Mrs. Weasley was a short, lump of a woman.

"What are you smiling at?" Ginny asked, curious. "Your parents," Hermione answered. "You must admit they are so cute! Especially when they fuss over one another."

"HERMIONE! _Must_ you talk about my parents like that while I'm eating?" Ron's eyes were large and pleading as he looked at Hermione. "Sorry, Ron. I didn't know you're parents disgusted you that much." Hermione didn't know what Ron's problem was. She would die to have his parents. After all, her mother may be a gem of a woman, but on the other hand, her father wasn't the greatest guy in the world.

"Alright, you lot, get your bums upstairs and pack whatever else you need at Hogwarts. I don't want to have to owl much of anything tomorrow morning, so double check everything!" Mrs. Weasley began to hurry her children to the staircase, with the addition of Harry and Hermione, who were at the back of the bunch. "Don't toddle about, either!" she reminded.

Harry laughed, and took the stairs two at a time, shouting over his shoulder "We won't!" Hermione noticed the twinkle in his eyes, and how he seemed to be truly enjoying himself. It had been a while since she had seen a genuine smile on his face, which was quite predictable, considering the passing of Sirius had only been a few months prior.

He had been doing quite well, actually, Hermione thought. Compared to the first few weeks after Sirius died, he was healing quite exceptionally. She knew that if it had been her loss of someone incredibly close like that, she would be devastated and scarred for life, especially since she would have witnessed the murder. She shivered. She absolutely _despised_ the word.

Murder. Just thinking about it made her shiver. How could someone kill another in cold blood? Without any regret or remorse for taking another person's life away, their happiness, everything that they once held dear? She just couldn't comprehend it.

"Budge up there, Hermione! Get going!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked up the stairs. "You have a half hour to get ready and be down here with your things!" Hermione hadn't intentionally lost herself in thought on the Weasley's rickety staircase, so she hurried up to the room she and Ginny had shared for the past two weeks. When she opened the door, she saw a whir or red hair fly back and forth across the room, accompanied by a voice muttering feverishly:

"Oh, damn, where are they! Where are those bloody quills! And my dress robes, I need my dress robes, too! What about the…the…oh whatever it is they're called…" Ginny trailed off, still obsessively searching for her missing things. "Oh, hey, 'Mione," she said as she saw her dearest friend out of the corner of her eye. "Just looking for a few things I've seemed to have…er…misplaced." She gestured to the room at large, which was comfortably messy. "I can see that," Hermione replied.

She casually strolled to her side of the room, grinning as the littlest redhead continued her fruitless search. A few books and homework assignments littered the tiny writing desk, and Hermione placed them in her trunk ever so gently, so as not to rip them, wrinkle them, or disfigure them in any way.

A few moments later, Ron poked his head into the room. "Come on, girls, Mum's getting anxious!" Then he hurried down the stairs, his trunk clunking along behind him. "I'll see you when you get down there, then," Hermione stated, and Ginny nodded, still tearing the room apart in her hunt for everything and anything not packed.

"_Locomotor Trunk,_" Hermione whispered, and her trunk began floating in midair. She slowly edged it out of the doorway, so anyone coming would see it and not ram into it head first. Good thing she did so, for when she stepped out of the room herself, Harry was behind her, trunk in hand. "Hey, 'Mione," he said, eyeing the trunk. She laughed. "I figured this would be much more efficient than Ron's thumping-along-down-the-stairs method."

Harry blushed, as he had taken after Ron's example. "Good idea," he stated, whispered the incantation himself, and followed his friend down the stairs.

xXx

The trip to King's Cross was undeniably uneventful. Mrs. Weasley had called a few taxis's to take them, and the drivers were very pleased to have them or so it seemed. They got to the busy train station at a quarter to eleven, and had passed through the discreet barrier to platform nine and three quarters at ten to eleven.

"Alright, go find yourselves a compartment and then come right back here for goodbyes." Mrs. Weasley urged them through the crowd a bit, and then remained where she was. "She seems a bit… I don't know… demanding today. What do you guys think?" Both Harry and Hermione nodded at Ron.

They found an empty compartment soon enough, loaded their trunks, and strolled back to the plump redheaded woman waiting patiently near the barrier. Ron was a little in front of Hermione and Harry, and noticed that they kept brushing arms and he heard Hermione nervously giggle. _She never giggles. Why is she now? _His mood dipped as he continued to put one foot in front of the other toward his mother. _She never giggles around me…_

"Okay, now you lot behave yourselves," Mrs. Weasley started. "I don't want any more adventures between you three. You've been vivacious enough to last you a lifetime. Just concentrate on getting good grades and being happy alright? Now, go on, get, the train's about to leave!"

With a few last hugs, they were on the train and heading to Hogwarts.

xXx

The trio split up as soon as they got on the train, with promises to meet up within an hour. Hermione ran off to visit with Lavender and Parvati, while Ron and Harry chummed with Seamus and Dean. Ron waited in the corridor of the train until he had seen which compartment Hermione had lodged in, then continued along behind his fellow Gryffindor's.

Seamus began to talk of the gruesome quidditch match that had occurred just two weeks prior, but it was just background noise to Ron. He was deep in thought. Incredibly deep, just like the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. The boy couldn't take his mind off of Hermione no matter how hard he tried. _Focus on the conversation! At least **look** like you're paying attention. Nod, smile, anything! Just don't stare off into space. It'll look suspicious._

"Honestly, how could Lynch have the snitch RIGHT underneath him and not have known it? Especially when he saw Johnson coming right at him! I may be Irish meself, but Lynch was downright **stupid** for not seeing that snitch." Seamus was in full swing about the match. "But at least we won." He shrugged.

"Hey, guys, I'll be right back." He couldn't take it anymore. He had to let her know.

"All right," Harry said, without looking up at his best friend.

Hurriedly, Ron opened the compartment door and took a few deep breaths. What he was about to do called for cool and calm composure. This was more important than any exam he had ever taken, more important than anything that he could think of. It was time to do what he had wanted to do for so long.

xXx

Draco Malfoy was sitting, as usual, with his cronies Crabbe and Goyle in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Pansy Parkinson had also joined them…uninvited. And she was beginning to annoy Draco to the point of extreme discomfort and anger.

"Draco? Why aren't you listening to me?" Pansy whined, puffing out her lower lip in a vain attempt to look forlorn and misused. "Do you want honesty, or what you want to hear?" Draco asked, about ready to strangle the girl.

"Drakey, you should know what I want. Honesty, is of course, the key to _any_ relationship. So give it to me straight." Draco couldn't help but laugh. "Excuse me?" he said, trying to control his fit of laughter. "Exactly _what_ relationship are you implying?" "Ours of course," she said, insulted. "Well, Pansy," he started, chuckling a bit, "you are sadly mistaken. There **is no** relationship between us. I don't know where you got the stupid idea that we were any more than acquaintances, but I assure you, the relationship of which you speak is nonexistent."

He paused a moment to soak in the look of utter fury upon his fellow Slytherin's face, then continued. "And the reason why I wasn't listening to you? Frankly, everything that comes out of your mouth I find boring. You're a pompous little whore." Pansy's eyes widened in complete disbelief. How could her darling Draco insult her so? But he continued on.

"What?" he asked, noticing the bulging of her dull hazel eyes. "Oh, I see. You thought I could never be capable of calling you names, like I do Potter, Weasley and Granger. Oh, how you were mistaken. I've known since first year that all you've wanted was to be called 'mine.' Well that's never going to happen Parkinson. Get it through you're head."

Tears welled in the girl's eyes, and she stood up, determined not to show her weakness. "I expected better of you, Draco." She stomped out of the compartment to who knows where, slamming the door behind her, breaking the glass windows.

"Reparo," Draco said monotonously, and the glass fixed itself in seconds.

"Uhm, Draco?" Goyle said nervously. "What?" the blonde boy snapped. He was annoyed. Pansy always did this to him. And he didn't like it one bit. "That was…rude…even for you. I mean, she may be annoying and all, but she's _still_a Slytherin, _still_ a pureblood." Goyle gulped loudly as Crabbe looked on, stuffing his face with a sandwich his mother had packed him.

"Well, Goyle, I must say I'm surprised. I never thought you would ever disagree with me. But…maybe you're right." Draco noticed Goyle's shoulders droop, obviously indicating that the tension stored in them had just departed. "Like you said, she _is_ a Slytherin." Sarcasm saturated his silky voice, as he ended this last statement. But when he began speaking again, it was lined with fury.

"However, she _also_ is an annoying, prissy little bitch. And those qualities right there outweigh her bloodline. As if blood matters when the person should be shot because they have an annoying voice, and don't know when to shut up." Draco's temper flared, and he swept from the compartment in search of a place of solitude where he could get control of himself.

xXx

His breath was heave and labored as he approached the compartment. Why was he doing this? He'd gotten along perfectly well all these years without her knowing how he felt about her. Why did he have to tell her? He began arguing with himself. _Maybe I should just go back… NO! You're going to do this Ronald Weasley, even if it kills you — which it probably will, if she doesn't feel the same. _

He heard giggling a few feet away, and was able to pick out Hermione's subtle, yet demanding chuckle. Everything she did was unique, wasn't it? She wasn't afraid of what other people thought of her. To Ron, it was one of her most endearing qualities.

Just a few more steps and he would be there. He took a moment to try to control the rapid beating of his heart, which was beating so hard, it was as if it was trying to escape from the confines of his ribcage. With a last consoling thought of 'You can do this,' Ron stepped in front of the compartment door and knocked tentatively upon the glass pane. The girls motioned for him to come in, so he carefully slid the door open and stepped across the threshold.

Different versions of 'hi, Ron' were chorused by the girls as he entered. "Hey," he mumbled in response, nervously. All of a sudden, he didn't feel so great. Sure, he knew he'd have butterflies, but this felt like a whole squadron of 747's had taken off and were dive bombing whatever resided in his stomach. He looked pointedly at Hermione, determined to tell her how he felt. "Hermione, can we talk?" "Sure," she replied, just as he knew she would.

He knew so much about her, and yet so little. She always came up with ways to surprise him, but other things were so common and set in stone, he knew he could rely on them, no matter what. And her concern for her friends' well being was one of the things that were pure-Hermione. You could always count on her to help you. She said goodbye to her friends and followed Ron into the corridor, shutting the sliding door closed behind them.

"What's wrong?" she asked, immediately sensing his discomfort. "Well, I just wanted to talk, that's all." His face twisted into a look of worry, no matter what he did to try to prevent it. Her brow furrowed in suspicion. "I know there's more. Come on, tell me," she requested, as they began walking along the hall.

Ron stopped abruptly and said, "Just give me a minute to gather my thoughts. I _have_ to say this right. I _have_ to say this **perfectly**." He turned toward the window, gazing out upon the lush green scenery, watching the butter yellow sun spread its warm light over hill, meadow and forest. The complacency of it calmed him, far more than he thought it would. One more deep breath, and he began the most important conversation of his life to date.

"Hermione, this is hard for me to say, harder than you could know. But I talked with—well, **someone**— and I have to do this." Ron paused, ears reddening by the second. "See, Hermione, I don't think you know just how special you are. And what I'm about to say, I'm hoping, is going to make you happy. You're such an important part of my life, and all I want is you're happiness. So…I wanted to talk to you about, well, the feelings that —"

Hermione's eyes widened in happiness, and she cut him off. "Oh my gosh, Ron, are you serious?" She squealed in excitement. "I **never** would have thought he felt the same!" Hermione began jumping up and down and she was beaming brilliantly. "Wh-what?" Ron asked, confused. He hadn't expected this reaction out of her. Another one of her surprises. But he hadn't even finished telling her that he loved her, and she was has giddy as his mother was upon meeting Lockhart in second year.

"RON! You just gave me the greatest news I could have ever imagined. I never thought that Harry would like me. I thought it was going to be another unrequited love story. But oh, this is so much better than that THANK YOU Ron! From the bottom of my heart!" She hurried off to find Harry, not being able to get a grip upon herself, heart about to burst with joy and love.

She had left Ron standing in the same spot as when he began his confession, not noticing the look of horror and hurt upon his face. She was too busy rushing through the corridor, peeking in compartments trying to find Harry, that she didn't hear the crack. Hermione didn't hear the shattering of a heart that beat only for her, the heart that had given itself to the cause of loving her. Hermione Granger, his know-it-all best friend, would never know everything. He wouldn't let her. As a tear streamed down his cheek, Ron vowed that he would not allow Hermione to find out the most vital of information that came to understanding him…that he loved her with all that he was, that she had broken his heart.

xXx

**A/N:**Aww, poorRon. I'm evil I know. Ron didn't deserve to get his heart broken, but everything will be resolved soon enough. review and let me know what you think about it so far..any criticisms, praise..whatever.&& for the next chapter...would you like a Sorting song?


	5. A Sorting and a Surprise

**AN: **okay so im not sure how long its been since i last updated this thing. but here's the fifth chapter.

xXx

**Recap: **She had left Ron standing in the same spot as when he began his confession, not noticing the look of horror and hurt upon his face. She was too busy rushing through the corridor, peeking in compartments trying to find Harry, that she didn't hear the crack. Hermione didn't hear the shattering of a heart that beat only for her, the heart that had given itself to the cause of loving her. Hermione Granger, his know-it-all best friend, would never know everything. He wouldn't let her. As a tear streamed down his cheek, Ron vowed that he would not allow Hermione to find out the most vital of information that came to understanding him…that he loved her with all that he was, that she had broken his heart.

xXx

**Chapter Five: A Sorting and a Surprise**

_Inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale._ Draco's meditation technique's always helped to calm his ferocious temper. Ever since he was a little boy, still tottering around the Malfoy Mansion, Draco's fiery disposition was a nuisance. He'd demand things from the house elves, and when they refused his wishes, he would throw tantrums. Just like other witches and wizards, he made things happen without realizing it, and since his temperament was dangling on such a short fuse, these outbursts had damaging effects.

When he was four, his mother wouldn't get him a new toy broom (his old one was in very good condition), and while they were in the store, he ended up creating a mini-tornado, scattering all of the items in the shop. The clerk had a fit himself, and began throwing metal pots at them, screaming for them to get out of his shop.

And that was just one of the many tantrums of his toddler years.

As he grew older, his parents instilled the help of a meditation teacher, for Draco's outbursts just wouldn't be tolerated any longer. Within a week, the Malfoy household was a happier place for all.

And now he put his meditation skills to good use, taming his sullenness before he cursed someone into oblivion out of pure frustration. He had never done it before, of course, but he assumed it would be only too easy when he was angry.

Composed enough now to return to his friends, he left the bathroom after splashing some cool water on his face. The train was now passing gloomy forests, the darkness residing beneath the colorful plumage seeping into the early afternoon. A smile was born upon his lips as he stared out into the weaning day. He was going back to Hogwarts, where he belonged, away from his father.

Everybody thought that because of what his father was, Draco was inevitably doomed to the same fate: loyal servitude to Voldemort. But Draco had other plans for himself. Plans that he had to keep secret from his father.

Turning away from the window, Draco made his way back to Crabbe and Goyle. They were sitting there, stupidly as always. Why did he hang around with them? They never held intellectual conversations; the two cronies were far too stupid to be good conversationalists in that department.

"Come on," Draco urged, sliding open the door to the compartment. "Where are we going?" Crabbe asked, heaving his bulk up off the cushiony seats. "To harass Potter and Weasley of course," Draco replied with a smirk. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed with delight.

xXx

Harry was by himself when Hermione finally found him. He was staring at a spot across from him, lost in his thoughts and memories. Hermione opened the door and slipped silently inside. She sat watching her best friend, watching the boy-who-lived, for a few minutes. He noticed her out of the corner of his eye, looked up and smiled at her.

"Hey," he said, genuinely happy to see her. "Hi," she replied nervously. "Can we talk?" Harry nodded in agreement, and Hermione took the seat next to him. "I know," she whispered, twiddling her thumbs. A quizzical look passed over his face as he asked "Know what?"

Hermione lifted her gaze from her restless thumbs to his enchanting green eyes, bracing herself to tell him that she felt the same as he. It was still so unbelievable to the girl. "Harry, I know how you feel, and…well, I feel the same." She was oblivious to the look of confusion in his eyes as she leaned closer, decreasing the space between their lips.

His emerald eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't resist when they're lips finally met. Soft and experimental. But there were no sparks, no fireworks, no feeling of being stuck to the seat, unable to move. When they finally parted, the silence was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.

"Uh…uhm…" Hermione muttered, mortified by her spontaneous behavior. All feelings for Harry had diminished at the moment they had separated, and all she wanted from him now was their friendship, unchanged by the kiss. If she had lost that by acting upon her impulses a few moments ago, she would never forgive herself. Never. Harry spoke first.

"How about we keep this little…erm…incident to ourselves? I'm sure we both felt the same thing." "Which would be?" she asked. "Well, nothing, really. We're better at being friends, and I think we both know that." "Agreed," she responded, letting out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"So," she continued, acting normal, trying to forget what had just happened, "you look good, Harry, like you've been working out." Harry proceeded to tell her how he had began working out to keep his mind off the loss that was Sirius. He said that the pain in the stressed muscles after a hard work out kept him occupied enough to dull, ever so slightly, how much he missed his godfather.

Ron walked in then, hiding any emotions he was feeling deep inside, remembering his vow to himself. _She will **not** find out._ "Hey, Ron," the two said together, welcoming the third member of their trio. "Hi," he said, playing his part perfectly. The Golden Trio began to chat about all sorts of things (quidditch, who is Head Boy and Girl, their summers, etc.), and this conversation carried them to sunset, _and_ when they were interrupted by Malfoy.

Hermione's flinch was obvious the moment she saw Draco, and the platinum blonde's mouth curved into an evil smirk. He took pride in frightening the mudblood. "If it isn't Potty and Weasleby," he said, leaving the girl out. "Sod off, Malfoy," Ron said, not in any mood to deal with the ferret boy.

"That insult — if you could even call it that — is getting a bit old, don't you think?" Malfoy asked. "Leave, Malfoy." Harry rose from his seat, trying the polite approach with his voice, but showing Malfoy how he had 'matured' over the summer, hopefully instilling a bit of intimidation in him. If he had succeeded, Malfoy covered incredibly well for his surprise.

The Slytherin gang in the doorway began to laugh uncontrollably. "As if we'd leave because you told us too. Granger," Draco said, turning his gaze upon the girl that had invaded his dreams the previous night. "Why are you so quiet? Normally you can't keep your mouth shut, always spewing answers, even when you aren't asked. Are you sick or something?"

His inquiries weren't meant to show concern towards the girl, but they were more like statements of his curiosity. Hermione's courage returned and she replied to Malfoy in a steady voice. "Actually, I am sick, Malfoy. I'm sick of you, ferret boy. Now, get out." She drew her wand. "No need to be hostile, mudblood. Remember — the bookshop." With a lasting sneer, the Slytherins departed.

"What does he mean, 'the bookshop?'? " Ron asked. "It's nothing," she replied a little too quickly. Ron's brow furrowed in suspicion, but asked no further questions. Soon after the encounter with the Slytherin prince and his cronies, Hermione brought up the subject of the Order of the Phoenix, and their duties now that they were part of the elite organization.

"So, Dumbledore is asking us to keep an eye on the students," she began. Ron interrupted her. "Why do we have to play look out when Dumbledore is right there at school? I don't see the point —" "_Ron,_ the students are more likely to be guarded around Dumbledore than they would be around their peers. Simple logic. Anyways, we need to pay special attention to Slytherins for Dark Arts activity. That house is, after all, the house that has produced the most dark witches and wizards of the age. And Malfoy's father is obviously a Death Eater, so Malfoy will have a lot of influence on that house. We need to tread carefully."

Harry nodded in agreement and said, "Even people from other houses should be held under suspicion. Death Eaters didn't all come from Slytherin." "Good point," Ron added. Silence reigned in the compartment for a few moments, and a grumble from Ron's stomach sliced through the uncomfortable quiet, making the trio laugh.

"I'm starved!" Ron exclaimed, clamping a hand on his stomach. "Obviously," Harry muttered. "We should be arriving in a few minutes," Hermione said, looking at her watch. "We should get changed."

xXx

Within ten minutes, they arrived at Hogsmeade Station. Lamps threw their warm light into the pitch dark of the village streets, presently deserted. Students began to file out onto the platform, excitement coursing through the veins of returning pupils, and anxiety running through the tiny first years.

Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way over to the stairs that lead to the service road where seemingly horseless carriages awaited to take the older students to the school. While looking at the thestrals as he and his friends continued toward Hagrid, Harry found a new sense of beauty in the gleaming beasts. To him, they no longer represented the fact that he had seen a person die, two people in fact, but that beauty can come out of despair, if you were only willing to search for it.

"All right, you three?" Hagrid asked, as the trio passed by on their way to the carriages. The giant's voice droned on, beckoning the first years towards him.

"Move out of the way!" a voice called, and Harry, Hermione and Ron were shoved forcibly away from the stairs. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle glared at their rivals, passed in front of them, and were soon disappearing in a coach headed toward the castle.

"He is THE rudest, most chauvinist, pompous prat I have ever known!" Hermione said with vehemence. The two boys laughed, with a "You got that right" from Ron, and managed to get a carriage for themselves.

No one said anything on the ride to the most prodigious wizarding school in all of Britain. The castle came into view within five minutes, lit by the moon on a most wondrous backdrop of indigo spotted with stars. Soft lights emanated from the windows set high in stone, warming all who saw them, heightening everyone's yearning and anticipation of returning to what most considered a second home.

A few moments later, the carriage that had transported the three adventurers arrived at the great oak front doors, leading to the Entrance Hall. Before going into the castle, Harry gratefully patted the thestral that had brought them here, then sent it on its way.

Hermione inhaled deeply, taking in the freshness of the air; this far from muggle cities, the air was purer and was not polluted by automobile exhaust as was London or Kensington. The crisp air filtered through the Hogwarts Golden Girl and gave her a sense of belonging, unlike her muggle home. She was away from her father and nothing mattered more than that.

Ron and Harry followed her into the castle and then the Great Hall. Three quarters of the students were already seated at their respective house tables, and a low drone was issuing from each as friends reunited after spending the summer apart.

Hermione took a seat next to Ginny, and the two boys took seats across from her. Ron stared continually at the golden plate before him, impatiently muttering under his breath about how slow time was moving. However it wasn't five minutes before the new first year students marched into the Great Hall, led by McGonagall, who carried the Sorting hat and a three-legged stool.

Hagrid sauntered into his seat at the end of the staff table, and watched his female colleague intently. Every head turned, looking expectantly at the torn and tattered wizard hat. And it then began to chant:

_A thousand years and more ago,_

_Far before your time,_

_I was here and newly sewn,_

_Clean, no dirt or grime._

_The founders four enchanted me_

_With the ability to choose_

_Which house a child belonged in,_

_To which house they would be true._

_Godric Gryffindor was keen to those_

_Who were brave of heart._

_Their courage knew no limits,_

_All were loyal from the start._

_Rowena Ravenclaw desired_

_A group whose minds were bright._

_Intelligence was held very dear,_

_With knowledge, they could fight._

_Children of pureblood descent_

_Mattered to Salazar,_

_The house of Slytherin could assure_

_That these kids would go far._

_Dear Helena Hufflepuff_

_Would turn no child away;_

_Virtues of hard work and fun_

_Allowed pupils a comfy stay._

_So I was made to carry on_

_The sorting of young minds._

_To keep peace within these stone walls,_

_To help this school shine bright._

_So put me on and trust in me_

_I haven't been wrong yet;_

_You'll love the house I put you in_

_Your place you won't regret._

Applause rang out through the hall as McGonagall drew a piece of parchment from an inner pocket of her bottle green robes. "When I call out your name, you will sit upon the stool and place the hat upon your head. When it calls out your house, you are to take a seat at the respective table," she announced.

"Ashenbury, Kaiden!" Professor McGonagall called out, and a little girl with jet-black hair almost to her waist stepped forward. Although so small, she showed no signs of fear as she crossed to the stool and hat. In fact, she disembogued with confidence.

With startling grace, as if every twitch, every tender gesture was premeditated, she set the hat atop her head with a smile. After a few moments, that hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" and Hermione cheered with the others of her house.

Kaiden took of the Sorting Hat and placed it gently upon the stool, then strolled easily to the closest vacant seat at the Gryffindor table, which happened to be next to Hermione.

"Hello," the girl said, flashing a brilliant smile. "Hi," Hermione returned, cheerfully.

A closer look at Kaiden revealed beautiful violet eyes with dashes of gold in them ; a most unusual combination of colors, but they blended wonderfully. Her dark lashes complimented the hue of her iris, and were of contrast to her semi-tan skin-tone.

"Cambridge, Jacob!" became a Ravenclaw, as did "Clemons, Isaac."

The line of first years began to dwindle, but no student had captivated Hermione like Kaiden had. Another girl, named Rebecca, had joined Kaiden, but they couldn't have been more different. Kaiden had hair the color of the blackest night, whereas Rebecca was the lightest of blondes. Rebecca's eyes were an enthralling shade of cerulean blue that sparkled when she smiled; the blonde also had dimples.

The two girls were deep in conversation as Hermione studied them, and as the last name was called ("Zachary, Melinda!" ; Slytherin) both Rebecca and Kaiden turned and stared at Hermione. "What's your name?" Rebecca asked, clearly unperturbed by the interest Hermione was showing in herself and Kaiden. "Oh, um… I'm Hermione Granger. Sixth year." "Nice to meet you, Hermione," the girls chanted cheerfully, and turned their attention to the staff table, where their headmaster had risen at last.

"A few words before we gorge ourselves on another magnificent feast: First years would do well to remember that the forest located on the school grounds is off-limits. Under no circumstances are you to ever enter it. Also, for those interested, Quidditch tryouts will be held within the next two weeks. Please see the following team captains to learn of the date. Hufflepuff's captain is Ernie Macmillan; Ravenclaw — Cho Chang; Gryffindor will be led by Harry Potter, and the Slytherins by Draco Malfoy. Other start-of-term notices can wait until we've all eaten our fill. Now…let the feast begin!"

The silvery-white haired man sat down and began to load his plate with food, as did everyone else in the Hall. Hermione turned her head when she felt a purposeful tap on her right shoulder. Kaiden was looking at her imploringly. "What can I help you with?" Hermione asked gently.

"Who's Harry Potter?" Kaiden's face was contorted into a look of polite interest, as she continued. "I know he's famous. I just don't know what for." Smiling, Hermione told the two girls next to her about Harry's triumph over the Dark Lord when he was just a year old, and also of her contingencies with him over their years at Hogwarts.

"And he happens to be _that_ boy, right there." Hermione pointed adamantly at her raven-haired friend, who looked up when he sensed three pairs of eyes on him. "What?" he asked, perplexed by the stares coming from the three ladies. "These girls didn't know who you were. No need to worry though, I've filled them in on your whole life story, Harry." Hermione smiled jovially, and began to eat her own dinner.

The hall was full of comfortable chatter as students began to be affected by full stomachs and the warm atmosphere. McGonagall came over to Hermione soon after the clink of cutlery had subsided, and students' eyelids began to droop from fatigue. "Miss Granger," she started, looking into the bright, intelligent eyes of her favorite student. "The headmaster would like to meet with you after the feast in the chamber off the hall. You remember, the one where the champions went after they're names were drawn." "Yes," Hermione replied. "What for?" With a smile, the transfiguration teacher said, "You'll have to wait and find out yourself; but don't worry about a thing, Miss Granger, you'll be thrilled by his news, I'm sure." And with that, McGonagall returned to the staff table and began to talk with Professor Sprout.

Ten minutes later, Dumbledore rose to his feet, and the hall fell silent immediately. A smile lit the headmaster's eyes with a satisfied twinkle as he began to speak. "Another Start-of-Term feast has gone by and I think I speak for us all when I say it was simply delectable." A murmur of assent coursed through the house tables. "Now I am sure many of you are wondering about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, as I'm sure you've noticed there is an empty seat here at the staff table. I think I must warn you all now, that your new teacher, Professor Amanda Wellston, is American, and also a vampire." A collective gasp from the students was heard, echoing in the room. However, Dumbledore plunged on. "Now, now, don't be alarmed. She is perfectly harmless, I assure you. Professor Wellston is one of the most intelligent women in America, having graduated both from muggle and wizarding school. Despite being a vampire, she does not drink blood, human or otherwise. I'm sure she'll tell you during class all about herself, so I see no point for me to continue on telling you of her history. You are all probably weary and ready for bed. So off you go!"

Conversations broke out the moment Dumbledore was through as students followed the prefects to their respective house dormitories. Hermione hung back, telling Harry and Ron she'd see them in the morning. When the hall was deserted, albeit a few stragglers, Hermione made her way between the house tables toward the chamber where Dumbledore awaited to speak with her.

Her eyes were fixated upon the ground, thoughts running through her head. What reason could Dumbledore possibly have to speak with her so early in the year? These factors were what had occupied her so thoroughly, she was at the door to the chamber before she knew it.

Hermione knocked on the polished door, and tentatively stepped inside. Closing the door behind her, she looked up and the sight that greeted her was the last thing she would ever have expected.

Eyes wide, she said, "_Malfoy!_"

**AN: **Okay so what is it that Dumbledore would like to talk to Hermione and Draco about, hmm? Sorry this was a boring-ish kind of chapter, butI needed it in order to go into chapter six! and that should be up within two weeks ((I'm hoping)) Review please and recommend to others if you enjoy it!


	6. Authority With a Hint of Misunderstandin

**Recap: **Her eyes were fixated upon the ground, thoughts running through her head. What reason could Dumbledore possibly have to speak with her so early in the year? These factors were what had occupied her so thoroughly, she was at the door to the chamber before she knew it.

Hermione knocked on the polished door, and tentatively stepped inside. Closing the door behind her, she looked up and the sight that greeted her was the last thing she would ever have expected.

Eyes wide, she said "_Malfoy!_"

* * *

**Chapter Six: Authority with a Side of Misunderstanding**

"Ah, Miss Granger, please, take a seat." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as he saw the exchange of glares from the two top students in sixth year. "You're both probably wondering what I have asked you here for. Neither of you have spots on your school records, so what reason could I _possibly_ have for wanting to speak with you."

The two students looked at each other, brows furrowed, with suspicion dancing in their eyes, then turned back to their headmaster. "Don't worry, you are not in any trouble. Quite the contrary in fact. This year at Hogwarts, the staff and the board of school governors have decided to instill another set of…shall we say, law enforcers. As you both know, we have Prefects, and the Head Boy and Girl." Hermione and Draco nodded understanding. "And in addition to those positions, there will be an apprenticeship to the Head students. That is, an in training Head Boy and Girl. The staff has agreed that you two will fill those posts quite nicely."

Hermione's jaw dropped as her heart began to hammer against her ribcage. Could she believe what she was hearing? She was _actually_going to be in an authoritive position other than prefect? Chuckling, Dumbledore continued.

"Yes, Miss Granger, you will be taking up the post of Head Girl next year, as you, Draco, will be Head Boy. In past years, some of our heads have come to me in complete hysteria because they didn't know if they could handle the work that was assigned to them. After last year, we didn't want that happening again. So after talking with the governors of Hogwarts, we came up with this apprenticeship program. Your prefect duties are still your responsibility, but we want you to know what you're in for next year, back here at Hogwarts. This new post that you have been assigned will help you understand your duties for seventh year. You will work closely with the current Head Boy and Girl, helping to plan prefect meetings, Hogsmeade trips, and also, a ball."

Draco eyes widened. A ball? There was going to be a ball this year? There hadn't been one since fourth year. What was so special about this year that a ball was needed? "Professor…what exactly is this ball being planned for? Is it preceding a major event?" He wasn't really looking forward to this dance. He'd be stuck going with Pansy — again — and that was just a total nightmare. Yes, she could be sweet, but her voice was just so...irritating. It was like scraping nails against a chalkboard.

"No, Draco. There is no real 'event' as you put it. But I thought the students would enjoy a ball. Wouldn't you say so, Miss Granger?" Hermione nodded her head and began to speak. "Oh yes, Professor. Is there going to be a specific theme? Age limit?" "Now, now, Hermione, one question at a time. I cannot answer any of those queries, since it is Draco, Laurence, Melinda and yourself who will be planning it." A smile lit up Hermione's face, and Draco couldn't help but stare. She wasn't such an ugly thing after all.

"How exciting!" she breathed. She was positively glowing. "Now, if you'll both follow me, I will show you your new lodgings." Dumbledore stood up from the armchair he had been sitting in and walked to the door in four long strides. Hermione and Draco followed obediently as Dumbledore led them out into the, now deserted, Great Hall, through the Entrance Hall, and up the marble staircase.

They walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps bouncing off the walls. Dumbledore turned right when he reached the fifth floor, and continued about halfway down the corridor. He stopped in front of a blank stretch of wall, centered by two tapestries, one scarlet red, one emerald green. It looked innocent enough to Draco and Hermione, but no sooner had they arrived than paint began to materialize upon the stone. The form of a giant cat was taking shape, and when it was finished, Hermione recognized a sphinx. "Oh," she breathed.

"Hello, Rhianna," Dumbledore said pleasantly. The sphinx purred, and replied in a low, elegant voice very much like a lullaby. "Good evening, Headmaster." Rhianna turned her head to look at the new occupants of the rooms beyond her perch, and nodded her head in greeting. "Hermione, Draco. So pleasant to meet you at last. What do you wish your password to be?"

"We get to choose the password?" Hermione asked? "Why, yes," said Rhianna. "This is _your_ dormitory after all."

Hermione and Draco looked at each other. They were so different, and they despised each other. How could they _possibly_ agree on a password?

"You decide," said Draco, surprising Hermione. "Erm...okay," she said. "How about…television." "Television?" Draco asked. "Yes, television. I didn't want our password to be something that encourages the separation of the houses, and since a television is a muggle form of entertainment, I figured it couldn't do any harm. Not to mention it's unlikely anyone would ever think of it, since it isn't associated with the wizarding community." "Fine, television it is."

"Very well, then," Rhianna said. She faded back into the stone, just as the wall began to split in half. Dumbledore stepped inside first, and the two pupils followed.

The circular room before them was quite beautiful; and quite large. Whoever had decorated had an eye for color. It was the perfect meshing of red and green hues that created a homey feel. Both couches were black leather, positioned directly in front of the only fireplace, above which, Gryffindor and Slytherin banners hung side by side. A glass coffee table stood on an antique rug before the couches, while light from the crackling flames bounced cheerfully off it. Squishy armchairs were placed sparsely about the room, as to entice some privacy if desired.

Dumbledore looked on amusedly as Hermione's face positively radiated excitement, and Draco's more indifferent stare scanned the room. "Well, what do you think? Is it suitable?" "Oh, yes! Thank you so much, Professor!" Hermione exclaimed. Draco however, simply nodded. "Very good! Now, I'm sure you're both anxious to see your rooms. But to be honest, there isn't much to see. We have also left the decorating of your private dormitories to you. We want you to be as comfortable as possible. Hermione, your room is on the left of the middle door, Draco, the right. The middle door is your bathroom. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you must share a bathroom. However, you both have your own half bath, just in case of emergencies," Dumbledore chuckled. "There is a bell pull in each room, if you were in need to call upon a house elf. I think that is all. The exploring I'm sure you are to do will tell you everything else you need to know, and you can, of course, come to me with questions. Good day Hermione, Draco." And he swept from the room in a few quick strides.

Hermione ran to her door, and threw it open. Inside, everything was white; the carpet, walls, draperies, and bedding. A whole slew of possibilities ran through her mind, until she had the perfect design and theme for her room. A few flicks of her wand and there it was: the wood on her four-poster bed was a deep cherry oak, gleaming as if newly polished. The walls had been shaded a beige-cream color with moldings the same wood as her bed frame; upon the walls, there were a few muggle paintings of serene landscapes. The bedding was plush and, surprisingly, pink. Not bright pink, mind you, but a light pastel that blended nicely with the cream and mocha accent pillows upon the bed. Satisfied, she strolled to the door of the bathroom.

It too, was completely white. Draco stood just over the threshold from his own room, and Hermione could just make out the colors of navy blue, cream, and black. "Why don't we just color code our toiletries and leave the rest white. It'll make things a hell of a lot simpler," Draco said. "Uhm, okay," Hermione replied feebly. Draco waved his wand once, and all of his belongings turned navy blue. Following his lead, Hermione waved her own wand, and the light pastel pink found in her room joined the navy blue.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," Hermione said, but Draco had already turned on his heel and closed the door to his room. "Figures…the inconsiderate prat. Can't even say goodnight…" Hermione continued to mumble as she turned on the hot water, undressed, and stepped into the shower.

Draco heard the water running, and his imagination went into over-drive. His eyes clouded and he was transported into the best daydream he had ever had: He was with Hermione, there in the shower with her, the hot water beating down upon his back as he traced his fingers delicately over her form. A breath escaped her lips as her head arched back, and her body, toward him. The silver eyes traced up and down the brunette's body, thoroughly pleased with what he saw. His breathing became shallow, and he brought his lips to her neck; a moan, barely audible over the rushing water, came from her lips, as he lightly scraped his teeth over her collarbone…

His vision cleared and he saw his hand on the doorknob to the bathroom. Backing away slowly, he was disgusted with himself. _This is a MUDBLOOD!_ He thought. _A very cute — NO, don't go there._ The water wasn't running anymore, he noticed. Determinedly, he went to his bed and stripped down to his boxers. The minute he hit the bed, he was asleep.

xXx

The next morning, Hermione was incredibly refreshed. She loved the privacy of having her own room and not having Parvati and Lavender annoying her with their endless chatter.

Once again, Hermione stepped into the bathroom and took a shower. Hygiene was incredibly important to her. As she dressed, she checked the clock — 7:45. Right on schedule, she thought, dropping her bag into an armchair by the door. Curious as to the lack of noise from Draco's room, she knocked; receiving no answer, she slowly opened the door, peeking in. To be quite honest, she wasn't braced for the site that met her eyes.

Draco was atop the bed sheets, his body moving with the slow and deep breaths of sleep. The platinum blonde locks were tousled, a few strands hanging over his face, and they danced with the steady inhalations coming from the Slytherin. Draco was wearing nothing but silk, black boxer shorts the set off just how pale he was. But it wasn't a sickly pale, Hermione mused, but an alabaster coloring. It fit him, she decided.

Quietly, she moved into the room, intending to shake him awake, when his eyes popped open. Upon seeing her directly in front of him, he sat up, eyes widening. Temper over-took him and he began shouting. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING! BARGING INTO MY ROOM UNINVITED, STARING AT ME LIKE SOME…SOME… PEDOPHILE!" _He doesn't know about it… just don't show that you're hurt, even if he isn't the cause of it._ That one word, 'pedophile', set Hermione's tear ducts to work. And yet, Draco continued. "IT'S DISGUSTING! NOW, YOU'RE GOING TO TELL ME WHY THE BLOODY HELL YOU'RE IN HERE. THIS. INSTANT." Noticing her tears, he said much more quietly, "Damn it, Granger… don't cry."

He sprung up off the bed, and drew a robe from the closet. _Bloody hell, I didn't mean to make her cry. That was **nothing** compared to my usual insults. But she's a mudblood, Malfoy. Don't worry about her. _

"Like you care if I'm crying or not," Hermione spat, anger flaming in her honey eyes. "You don't even know the reason! But since you'd like to know why I was in here…fine. It's almost eight o'clock, first day of lessons; I didn't want you to be late. SATISFIED! YOU'RE SADLY MISTAKEN IF YOU EXPECT AN APOLOGY FROM ME, ESPECIALLY AFTER CALLING ME A PEDOPHILE. AND ON THAT POINT, YOU HAVE **_ME_** CONFUSED WITH MY **_FATHER_**." Hermione then stormed out of the room, tears staining her cheeks with pathways leading to the ground; Harry and Ron would find them at breakfast.

As she swiped up her bag from the armchair she had set it in, she thought to her self, _What have I done?_

xXx

After Hermione left, it seemed an eternity before Draco moved again. He was so stunned by her words — 'you have _me_ confused with my _father_' — he just couldn't move his legs. Finally, he roamed into the bathroom and hurriedly took a shower and went through his morning routine: facial cream for soft, unblemished skin, a flick of his wand to ensure tangle-free, but wind blown locks, brushing his teeth… he seemed oddly disconnected from these simple, daily rituals; and all because he had insulted Hermione so badly (and the kicker was, he hadn't intended to).

In the Great Hall, he scanned the Gryffindor table inconspicuously, but did not find any sign of the Gryffindor Golden Girl. Uncomfortably worried, Draco headed to Arithmancy, disgusted with himself for worrying so much about the muggle-born.

xXx

Hermione had told Harry and Ron everything — except, of course, how she had found the shirtless Draco such a pleasant sight — and now as she sat in arithmancy, alone, without Harry and Ron, and she could feel _his_ eyes on her. The silver eyes that shot fire or ice, all in a matter of seconds. Instead of succumbing to turning around and facing him, she sat up straighter and held her head higher, taking scrupulous notes on the blantep figure that Professor Vector was explaining.

But Draco couldn't concentrate on notes, not when he could see her hair shining as the sun hit it, not when he felt like such a fool for hurting her without meaning to, not when he thought of what she had said. They may be in rival houses, but no one deserved to have a pedophile for a father. And then his mind started working…

According to Hermione, her father preyed sexually on kids. _Did that include teenagers?_ He wondered. If so, could it be that Hermione herself was preyed upon? That she had become a victim of incest? A chill ran up and down Draco's spine.

No, no, Hermione would have put up a fight if that were the case. And surely, she would have been more shaken by what he had said. But then again… She was indeed a beautiful girl, Draco mused, and he was sure any grown man would look at her, blood related or not. So the possibility was there, but hopefully it wasn't the case.

The bell rang and Hermione was already gone by the time Draco had exited the classroom himself. His next class was Potions with the Ravenclaw N.E.W.T. students, and as he made his way down to the dungeons, he resigned himself to more thoughts about Hermione.

xXx

"What do you think she'll be like?" was the main question that was floating around the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs alike were both anxious to meet their new teacher, to see a vampire in the flesh.

"Can you believe the teachers we've had before her? I mean look at the record: 1st year, a servant of You-Know-Who, 2nd year a famous wizard who is now in St. Mungo's, 3rd year a werewolf, 4th year _another_ servant of You-Know-Who, and last year, that hag. And now, a VAMPIRE!" Seamus was clearly wired. Bouncing up and down in his seat, eyes practically popping out of his head, it was very evident he was ready to hear all that Professor Amanda Wellston had to say.

Harry and Ron, however, couldn't care less. Their thoughts were focused upon Hermione. She wasn't shaking as badly as she had been at breakfast, but she still seemed a bit uneasy in their opinions. "You okay, 'Mione?" asked Ron, hand on her shoulder. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, though, Ron." She gave him a weak smile and resumed reading her text book.

The two boys glanced at each other and sat down on either side of their female friend, just as the doors opened and the lights went out. A few shrieks were heard, most likely from Parvati and Lavender, but candles were lit seconds later, and a woman stood at the front of the room.

She was slim and slender, her cheeks a bit hollow, but not unattractively so. Her hair was a deep crimson or auburn (the students couldn't tell in the dim light) that flowed to the middle of her back and shined when the candlelight hit it; she was dressed in muggle jeans and mocha colored turtleneck, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She smiled and addressed herself.

"My names Amanda Wellston, and as Dumbledore has already told you, I come from America. I apologize for the dim lighting, but my eyes are very sensitive to light. Not to worry, though. Next class, the lighting will be normal." Another smile. "Now, seeing as I _am_ a vampire, why not start off talking about them? First, can anyone tell me one crucial characteristic about the vampire? Ten points to the house that answers."

Hermione's hand shot in the air, as expected. "And what would your name be?" Professor Wellston asked. "Hermione, Professor. Hermione Granger. And one way to identify a vampire is by their eyes. When a vampire becomes agitated, the pupils become very large, and the white of the eye becomes slightly bloodshot."

"Very good, Hermione! Ten points. Oh, and for future reference, no need to call me 'Professor.' That's not my style. Amanda or Miss Wellston will be fine. Now. What Hermione says is true. The eyes are very important in identifying a vampire. I didn't expect that as the first answer, naturally as everyone associates fangs with my kind. But the only thing about our canine teeth, is that they are hidden most of the time. But, I must say I was pleasantly surprised. Well. I'm sure you all have questions for me and I'll be more than happy to answer them." This time, she grinned wide, showing all of her teeth, and no fangs were present.

Seamus's hand shot up. "Miss Wellston, do you hang upside down?" She laughed. "No, I do not. That is just some… miffed up tale. Nor do I sleep in a coffin, or turn into a bat. Coffins are made for the deceased, and I am in no need of one, as I am alive and healthy. The bat story originated when a vampire was an animagus, and it just swelled to uncontrollable proportions. We vampires shouldn't be as feared as we are. We can control ourselves just as easily as you can. I don't drink blood for example. Just like a pig can be weaned from its mother's milk, a vampire can be weaned off of blood. When I was about a year old, my mother switched me to red wine. Whenever I got in a bit of a mood, she would give me a bottle filled with red wine, and it calmed me. And that is how I remain still."

"Now, before we get back to the question and answer session, your homework is a paper on the way you can identify a vampire. Also incorporate myths that surround the vampire, and if you can, prove them wrong with logical explanations." "Professor," Hermione started, "how long does this paper have to be? Six inches? Two rolls?"

"As long as it needs to be in order for you to address each point that I've asked for." Amanda waved her wand, and a tiny piece of parchment appeared in front of every student. "Whatever is on that piece of parchment needs to be included in your paper. Every lesson that you receive homework, you will also receive a rubric of what needs to be included."

"Okay. My eyes. You cannot see them because of the light. But they are a deep, bottle green. When I get angry, you wont see that green color anymore. It will seem as if my eyes have turned totally red. So I suggest you do not do anything to irritate me." Smiling, she continued. "On the subject of eye color, does anyone know what violet eyes represent? It is a very rare color and rightly so."

To everyone's surprise, Hermione didn't raise her hand. She hadn't a clue of what purple eyes could mean. "Just as I thought," Amanda chuckled. "Does everyone here know what empathy means? The identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings, and motives. Well, violet eyes indicate a _true_ empath. It is a blessing, and a burden. An empath has the ability to tune into another person's feelings. But then the feelings are transmitted into the empath, and to the empath, it's as if too many voices are speaking within their head, as if the over load of feelings could kill you from the inside out. Now, you have to be careful when confiding in an empath because of this sensitivity…"

Although Hermione was deeply fascinated by the role of an empath, something pricked at the back of her mind, and she didn't hear the continuation of the empath information. _Violet Eyes, violet eyes…why were violet eyes so important now?_

xXx

In the bright sunshine of the late morning, an owl could be seen flying away, a letter clutched in its talons. Only one student knew where it was going, and he smiled to himself as he ran a hand through his blonde hair.

Lifting his sleeve, he smiled at the underside of his left forearm. It was still unblemished by the Dark Mark tattoo, but not for very long. The smile split into a wide grin. The Dark Lord was going to accept him into the ranks of the Death Eaters. He could feel it. And when that mark was branded into his flesh he would smile broadly, proudly.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you liked this chapter. And I think I'm going to take a hiatus for a while. I want to get a few more chapters written so I can update at least a little more regularly. I apologize for the odd schedule of my updates, but I was so anxious to get the first chapter up I didn't really think of regular updates. So please, bear with me. Also, I have terrible writer's block. I get frustrated and I take a couple days off and come back to it. I promise, I'll work harder to get my updates to a more normal schedule but can't guarantee anything. I hope you all will stick with me! Reviews are very much appreciated, as are recommendations of my story to other readers.

♥


	7. Fiery Passion

**Recap:** Although Hermione was deeply fascinated by the role of an empath, something pricked at the back of her mind, and she didn't hear the continuation of the empath information. _Violet Eyes, violet eyes…why were violet eyes so important now?_

XXX

In the bright sunshine of the late morning, an owl could be seen flying away, a letter clutched in its talons. Only one student knew where it was going, and he smiled to himself as he ran a hand through his blond hair.

Lifting his sleeve, he smiled at the underside of his left forearm. It was still unblemished by the Dark Mark tattoo, but not for very long. The smile split into a wide grin. The Dark Lord was going to accept him into the ranks of the Death Eaters. He could feel it. And when that mark was branded into his flesh he would smile broadly, proudly.

**DISTURBING CONTENT NEAR THE END OF THIS CHAPTER.** HOWEVER, I DO NOT WRITE ALTERNATE ENDINGS TO CHAPTERS — IT WOULD TAKE TOO MUCH TIME, AND IM SURE IT WOULD CONFUSE SOME PEOPLE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

**Chapter Seven: Fiery Passion **

**FAILED AZKABAN BREAKOUT**

In the early hours of morning on September 1st, a group of Death  
Eaters tried to escape from the wizard prison, Azkaban. Led by  
Mr. Lucius Malfoy, most, if not all, contained Death Eaters tried to  
Escape with his outside help. However, the guards stationed at  
The prison caught Mr. Malfoy before he could release his fellow  
Death Eaters. At an inquiry held later that morning, the prestigious  
Mr. Lucius Malfoy was convicted to a lifetime sentence in  
Azkaban for the attempted break out of You-Know-Who's followers.  
Seeing as the dementors have joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,  
Mr. Malfoy will avoid the miserable fate of having his soul sucked  
From his mouth. A member of the Wizengamont, Sir Tiberius  
Landon, spoke to our _Daily Prophet_ reporter about the inquiry."Our  
Law Enforcement prosecutors, along with Mr. Fudge, asked Lucius  
About his intentions at Azkaban that night calmly and civilly. They  
Also questioned him about his associations to the Dark Lord. His  
Response was predictable, as he became quite hostile, calling the  
Minister a liar and a cheat, stating that anything we had heard was  
A bold faced lie. This obviously led the Wizengamont to the conclu-  
-sion that Mr. Malfoy had something to hide. And now, he is where  
he belongs: Azkaban." Further questioning resulted in the know-  
-ledge, from an anonymous source within the Ministry, that the  
Department of the Locating and Obtaining Dangerous or Cursed  
Objects, along with the other departments of the Ministry, shall be  
Conducting a raid on Malfoy Manor. The _Daily Prophet_ will continue  
To monitor the progression of this story and will update the  
Wizarding community as information unfolds.

Setting the paper down, Hermione's face was taken over by a look of pure smugness as she tucked into a bowl of porridge. "What's up with you?" Ron asked. "Nothing at all, Ronald, just the fact that Malfoy isn't going to be very happy this morning when he reads the _Prophet._ Look at the front page."

She handed the paper to her redheaded friend. Harry also bent his head to read the wizarding newspaper, and a smirk made itself known on her lips as she saw the eyes of blue and green widen with surprise. _Oh yes, Malfoy would be deeply disturbed by this article. It proved that Harry was right all along and that the young Malfoy was bound to follow in his father's footsteps. So much for inter-house companionship,_ Hermione thought.

Ron whistled as he handed the paper back to Hermione. "Always knew his father was a rat, just like him. Dad's gonna have a field day with this one, you watch. He's been waiting to get something on Malfoy for years now!"

Finished with her porridge, Hermione stood. "Well, I'll see you both in Herbology." She snagged her bag from her feet and began her trek to the greenhouses.

As she entered the vast Entrance Hall, she ran into a raven-haired girl and knocked her flat on her back. Thoroughly shocked at her behavior — even if it _was_ accidental —, Hermione hurriedly sunk to her knees to help the young girl with her things, and to assist her to her feet. Not recognizing whom she was helping, Hermione spoke. "Oh, I'm incredibly sorry! Are you alright?"

"Thank you," the girl replied, finally looking up from the floor. "And yes, I'm fine." Violet eyes stared up at Hermione, sparkling. Puzzled, Hermione cast a line back into the ocean of her memories, trying to pinpoint the face she was now staring down at. "Kaiden?" she asked hesitantly.

Smiling brightly, the girl nodded. "I didn't know if you'd recognize me, what with you being a sixth year and all." "Of course I'd remember you! How have your classes been?" "Okay. The Slytherins don't seem to like me much, and I can't figure out what I did to offend them." She cast her eyes down, abashedly. "Don't worry about that. Slytherins and Gryffindors _never_ get along. Mostly, the Slytherins stick together unless it's to torment the other houses. You get used to it after a while. Are you getting to your classes okay? I know I had trouble finding my way around at first. It's a big castle."

Kaiden shrugged. "I find some and get completely lost trying to find others. Right now, for example, I'm supposed to head for Charms, but I don't know where to go. Erm…would you mind helping me?" "Sure, no problem."

Hermione led Kaiden up the marble staircase, and as she did so, she remembered Professor Wellston's words about violet eyes representing an empath. Tentatively, she brought the subject around to Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Have you had a lesson with her yet?" "No," Kaiden replied, "but I heard some third years saying that she was really nice and that the lessons were interesting. Have you?" Nodding, Hermione explained about the lesson from the previous day, tip toeing cautiously when she came to the subject of empaths.

"According to Professor Wellston, the eyes of an empath distinguish them from other witches and wizards. She says that their eyes are violet." At this, she looked over at Kaiden; her cheekbones were slightly flushed as she answered Hermione's unvoiced question.

"I never knew the name for it. But I always knew that I felt more than others… but I just thought I was overly compassionate or something." She paused. "So I'm an empath, huh? I guess I'll have to go to the library…do a bit of digging on what I am." Pleasantly surprised at Kaiden's response, Hermione smiled. "I could come with you; that is if I'm not busy with prefect

or Head duties."

A few more minutes and they were at their desired destination; "Well, here we are. Charms class. I'll be in touch. See you later." Hermione turned her back on Kaiden and began walking peacefully down the hall. Glancing at her watch, she squeaked, petrified that she might be late for Herbology.

Racing through the halls, speeding across the vegetable patch, she managed to slip into greenhouse three right before the bell rang. "Where have you been?" Ron asked, as Hermione plopped into the seat between Harry and Ron. "I was up in the Charms corridor," she answered simply.

"What were you doing up there?" Harry asked. "Remember that black-haired girl that sat by me at the feast? The one who didn't know what you were famous for?" "Oh, yeah. Purple eyes." "Mhm. Her name's Kaiden. I ran into her in the Entrance Hall. She didn't know where her class was so I offered to show her. We talked on the way there and I found out she's an empath."

Ron's eyes widened. "A real empath? Wow. Amanda said they were rare —" "Who's Amanda?" Hermione asked, wondering if this was a girl Ron had a little crush on. "Our teacher. Remember? Yesterday, she told us to call her Amanda or Ms. Wellston." "Hmph. Be that as it may, I still think it's disrespectful."

"Okay, hush, hush!" Professor Sprout had finally appeared behind a table covered with pots and dirt. "Now, today will be fairly simple. But that doesn't mean your attention should waver at all from your work." Explaining the sickly yellow plants in front of them, the class set to work.

"So, Hermione," Harry began, as he picked off one of the leaves from the plant as instructed, "where were you last night after dinner? We waited for you, but you never came to the common room." Sneezing off to the side, Hermione looked at him. "Damn allergies." she said, clearly avoiding the topic. " 'Mione…come on, you can tell me and Ron."

"Well. You know how McGonagall told me that Dumbledore wanted to see me after the feast?" The two boys nodded as they ripped the thick leaves apart, letting the juice drip into a vial. "Well, when I got to the chamber off the Great Hall, Malfoy was there as well." As she continued to tell the boys about her new authoritive position, Harry's brow furrowed — Hermione knew perfectly well that Harry had wanted to be Head Boy, just like his father — and Ron's ears began to redden, a sign of immense dissatisfaction. "And even though we're allowed to come and go from the other common rooms as we please, I'm quite fond of the new one. You should come and see it! It's gorgeous!"

"What about tonight after dinner?" Ron asked. In truth, he was quite nervous. This was Hermione's new domain they were talking about. It had more privacy by far than Gryffindor Tower. True to his word however, Ron had not let any emotion of tenderness slip from him whenever near his beloved Hermione, or Harry for that matter. But this new privacy could break down the walls he had so carefully built around his heart so it could reassemble the shattered pieces. What if, when alone with Hermione, in her new room, just the quiet surrounding them, he let slip that he was madly in love with her? That wouldn't bode well with him, not after making that solemn promise to himself.

With a look of regret on her face, Hermione said, "Oh, not tonight. Sorry. I've a meeting with Melinda and Laurence — discussing patrol schedules and what not. Oh! Did I tell you guys? There's going to be a ball this year!"

For the last half hour of class, Hermione told Ron and Harry about her new responsibilities — she was incredibly excited about having to manage so much more of the student body activities — and her ideas for the upcoming ball. "I was thinking we could have it a few days before the start of the Christmas holidays. What do you guys think?" After one glance at each other, the two boys nodded enthusiastically.

The rest of the day passed quite quickly. The class-work was becoming much more difficult, and more demanding of the students; after all, they were at N.E.W.T. level now, and their professors were expecting them to use nonverbal spells. Even Hermione was having some hindrance in getting the spells just right.

All the extra effort being put toward their lessons only made dinner that much more enjoyable for the students; with the light atmosphere of good food and companionable chatter, it was a nice way to relax before the sixth years started on the masses of homework that they had been set.

"I'd better be off. I want to drop my bag in my room before my meeting with Melinda and Laurence, possibly start on that arithmancy essay. I'll see you tomorrow."

Rising from the table, Hermione kissed both Ron and Harry on the cheek before departing. She had taken to doing this every night, before bed or whenever she left for the library; their trip to the Ministry had really shown her the evil that they were up against, and also how quickly either of them could be taken from her and lost forever. She never wanted either of them to think she didn't love them. Never. They were everything to her in this wizarding world, and she'd be damned if they didn't know that.

She continued to remember all that they had done together, how their bond had grown stronger throughout every year that they were in Hogwarts, fighting beside one another. They may have had their own fights, but she wouldn't trade those boys for the world.

"Television," she said to Rhianna, who purred and allowed the stone to open up to the room beyond. Humming to herself, she practically flew into her bedroom and landed on the bed. Sighing happily, she got up and pulled quill, parchment, and her book from her bag. Into the common room she floated, and curled up on one of the black couches.

Once she was comfortable, she began to write in her neat penmanship on the parchment in front of her. In fact, this simple act of recording her knowledge on paper only increased her mood, as did the prospect of the Head meeting that was fast approaching.

Her spirits soared and she began to sing:

"_How can I just let you walk away  
__Just let you leave without a trace  
__When I stand here taking every breath with you  
__You're the only one who really knew me at all  
__So take a look at me now  
_'_Cause there's just an empty space  
__There's nothing left here to remind me  
__Just the memory of your face"_

And this was how Draco found her upon entering after speaking the password to Rhianna — curled up on the couch, scribbling away and singing. And by God, could she sing. It wasn't a tune that Draco was familiar with, but he thought it beautiful all the same; Hermione sang every note perfectly, unaware of her one man audience that stood stock still, just listening to her voice and drinking it in.

It was an angelic sound, probably the best thing that he had ever heard in his life. Without realizing it, his eyes drifted slowly shut as he continued to listen to her sing, entranced by the purity of the sound as it resonated off the stone and filled the room.

In another minute, she had concluded the song and Draco still stood, eyes closed, basking in the glory of it. "Beautiful," he whispered unintentionally. If he weren't so transfixed by her voice, he would have reprimanded himself for saying that _bloody_ compliment aloud; never would he have otherwise complimented his foe; not to her face, at any rate.

She gasped. Had she known she had an audience, she would have quit singing immediately. _Never_ had she sung for anyone but herself — not even Ron and Harry. Singing was something she cherished and found precious, something to be her own, and on top of that, she thought herself a horrid singer. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and her eyes fill; oh, now she was in for it. Malfoy was going to hold this over her head for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. She could hear it now: "Granger thinks she can sing! Sounds more like a cat in heat if you ask me!" It was going to be pure torture!

_Bloody hell… I'm already knee deep in shit as it is, might as well go under. _"Beautiful," Draco repeated, now looking Hermione directly in the eyes. "Simply beautiful. Where'd you learn to sing like that, Granger?" A moment of silence ensued as she contemplated her adversary. Finally she replied, "No were. I… I just sing from time to time. You're…" But she trailed off, unsure of whether to tell him he was the only person who had ever heard her sing. She was so scared. But why shouldn't she be? All she had ever known from the hands of Draco Malfoy was loathing and torment.

Bracing herself, she confessed, "You're the first one who's ever heard me sing before." Now she looked away from him and started playing with her hair, twisting it gently around her finger and running her hands through it; a very unGranger-ish thing to do, Draco mused. He started toward her, and because of reasons he couldn't fathom, his heart kicked its pace up a notch.

But upon seeing his advance, Hermione stiffened noticeably. She hadn't forgotten their encounter in Flourish and Blotts and all the memories it had brought back. Malfoy being in this close proximity with her was scaring her senseless, and she was sure he could tell, being Draco Malfoy and all. _Can we actually continue this?_ Hermione thought. _He hasn't called me a mudblood yet… we're **actually** being civil… I bet he's only coming over here to rub it in my face that my voice is terrible. I don't need to hear it, I already know it. Hmph. Well that hasn't stopped him calling me a mudblood, has it?_

As she had predicted, Draco did see her tense up as he had started toward her, and it amused him. He held back the smirk that was trying desperately to show itself upon his lips, and he stopped a few feet from her. "Better get going. We have that meeting in about fifteen minutes."

And with this he turned to his bedroom door and disappeared inside.

XXX

It was a few hours later and Draco and Hermione were patrolling the corridors in complete silence; their footsteps bouncing back at them as they kept a look out for any students out of bed, it was such a straining quiet and it conceived such uneasiness deep in Hermione's gut. She hadn't ever been this distant from a patrol partner — but then again, Malfoy _was_ the first Slytherin she had prowled the halls with, enforcing the rules of Hogwarts.

Instead of trying to initiate what would most likely be a very unpleasant conversation (surely, their civility towards one another had ebbed by this time), Hermione thought back to the productive meeting with Laurence and Melinda.

They had discussed a great number of things — patrolling schedules and the pairings — not least of which was the ball. When the topic did creep up, Hermione had confessed her thoughts on a Christmas ball. The Head Boy and Girl were enthusiastic about this proposal, and to her utter astonishment, Malfoy had also said that he had been thinking along the same lines (with a smirk playing on his lips, of course).

Being agreed upon the general time that the ball would occur, they went into more detail. The age restrictions weren't as much of an issue this year, for it wasn't banned to any students; all pupils were welcome. However, the younger the student, the sooner they would have to leave the dance. Also, instead of having the Weird Sisters perform as they had at the Yule Ball, Melinda suggested a recently new wizarding band, entirely comprised of male musicians (Melinda had blushed heavily). Hermione had heard them on the Wizarding Wireless during the summer and they had a unique sound, one that the majority of students would approve of, she was sure. Beyond that, they tackled the problems of refreshments, table set-up within the hall, and decorations.

Unbeknownst to her of course, Draco had greatly appreciated listening to her converse with Melinda and Laurence; he had fully expected to be ignored and his prediction had rung true. However, he was grateful just to bare witness to an intellectual conversation, it being such a long time since he'd had one of his own.

While the other three students had enthused over every minute detail of the blasted ball, Draco had taken to pondering how best to bring about a discussion of intellectual content with Granger. Oh, how his mind thirsted to be challenged by someone, and he knew she was the only one to do it. If only they could discuss homework, like ancient runes — by far, she understood the symbols better than he, whether he liked to admit it or not.

And so the meeting had concluded, both Hermione's and Draco's thoughts fixed on thoroughly different subjects. As they continued their trek through the deserted halls, the silence became so thick, almost tangible, and Hermione could stand it no longer. "So, uhm…" She regretted speaking immediately. She didn't sound like her calm, composed self. She _never_ said 'uhm', so why did she in the presence of young Mister Malfoy?

"We're almost done with our patrol, Granger," Draco drawled. Even though he did yearn to speak with her, this wasn't the place. Their common room suited his intentions better than these crude stone-walls. "So just shut up until we get back to the common room." He hadn't intended to offend the mudblood, but obviously he had, for her eyes flew wide and she rounded on him.

"Excuse me, Malfoy?" she said with indignation. "What did I do that called for you telling me to shut up? _Two_ _words_. I think I deserve an apology, Malfoy." She had crossed her arms atop her breasts as her eyes shot daggers at the platinum blond. As was his habit when amused, he allowed a smirk to reach his lips as he watched her. She certainly had changed over the summer, being a bit more forceful with him than he was used to. There was a slight crinkle between her brows and he had the urge to take his thumb and rub it out.

No doubt she was still pretty while angry; oh yes, she was pretty, he didn't deny that. She may have the filthiest blood in the world, but he was still a boy with hormones raging. He appreciated the slightly pouted lips that were currently frowning at him, just as he appreciated the rest of her physique. "I'm waiting, Malfoy. And I'm not moving until you say you're sorry." _She's a stubborn one, isn't she?_ he thought.

"Well then, you'll be here quite a while Granger and I won't be waiting here with you. I have other things to do that would make better use of my time." He strode off, sure she would follow. And follow she did. "MALFOY! You are positively the biggest arse I have ever met! Are the words 'I'm sorry' not a part of your vocabulary? Is that why you're so cold? Because you just_ cannot _apologize for your actions? By God! Selfish, pompous, pureblooded pig…"

And now it was his turn to whirl his gaze onto her. Never in his entire life had anyone used the word 'pureblood' as an insult. But she had, and to his amazement, it had worked. He was offended by what this stupid mudblood had said to him, clearly proud of her muggle parentage. How could she be? It was only the purebloods that deserved a place in the wizarding world, or so he'd been taught by his father, mother, and everyone else that his father had allowed him contact with.

"Well, Granger, the little spitfire, aren't we?" He turned and pinned her against the stone, not making contact with her at all, at least six inches between their bodies. "Now, you _also_ owe me an apology. Which I'm sure you won't give. We're square then aren't we? I'm sure you figured out that I won't apologize for my words, and you won't either, I'm sure."

They had only been this close once before, and it had instilled bad memories within Hermione. And it was again. However, this was a different time her father had… well… It was another time they had had another bit of, shall we say, time together.

He hadn't taken her in her room this time; instead, they were in the kitchen, Hermione hoisted upon the counter, restrained by her demanding father. Her faded blue jeans lay in folds around her ankles, as did her panties, and she could vividly remember the look of satisfaction on her father's face as he plunged himself into her, over and over again, not caring that she had closed her eyes in revulsion. He was content just getting his fill of his daughter. Thrusting in and out of her with a savagery he hadn't shared with anyone, not even his wife. This was just for Hermione, for her pleasure as well as his. It was their own world of complete euphoria.

And all the while this was happening, he murmured soothing nonsense in her ear: "It's okay, baby, it's okay, Daddy's here and I won't hurt you, I promise. You're so beautiful, Hermione, really you are, and you don't have any idea how happy you make me. Your mother is so proud of you, your O.W.L. results pleased us both so much. We love you. We love you. We love you."

But she refused to let the tears fall. She wouldn't cry for her father. No. That was what he wanted to see, she knew it deep down in her gut. He wanted to see his power over her, and she wouldn't allow it. And being the Gryffindor that she was, she let no sound of pain escape her throat, didn't allow one tear to seep from the corners of her eyes as he violated her again and again…

"MALFOY STOP!" she shouted trying to push him away, her throat constricting painfully, but he had advanced even closer, and he _had_ noticed that her eyes had clouded over slightly, seemingly unaware of him. So much pain was residing in her eyes now — from what he had no idea —, but that look of despair compelled him to move closer to the girl, and she went hysterical.

"GET AWAY FROM ME! DON'T COME ANY CLOSER, I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE, PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME BE, LEAVE ME BE!" Her thrashing became even more violent, and Draco feared she would hit her head against the stone in her hurry to get away from him. He couldn't step away, but came closer, pinning her tightly to the wall with his body, hopefully to cease her tantrum and prevent her from severely injuring any of her limbs.

"NO GET OFF, GET OFF, I WANT YOU AWAY FROM ME! PLEASE!" However, he didn't retreat. He couldn't, not even if he had wanted to. He had to admit, there was a certain…appeal to pinning the girl to the wall with his body, a very sexual appeal. But that was neither here nor there. His priority was to stop her thrashing and her screaming: surely it would wake the castle?

So he did the first thing that came to mind. He kissed her.

XXX

**A/N: **Well I hope you enjoyed the chapter. And now I have a favor to ask. I really don't like re-reading my work after I've typed it up, and Microsoft word doesn't really do it for you. So if you're interested, I'm looking for a Beta for "Tempest Love." As in, someone who I will send each chapter to for review, criticism and ideas for upcoming chapters. I'm in great need of one, so if you're interested, please email me (the address is in my profile). I'd be incredibly grateful.

The song Hermione sings in this chapter is "Against All Odds" by Mariah Carey. It's a really beautiful song, and I thought it perfect for the occassion. )

**Next Chapter: The Aftermath. How will Draco and Hermione react to the kiss that they shared?**

Reviews are greatly appreciated, as are reccommendations.


	8. The Aftermath

**Recap:** "NO GET OFF, GET OFF, I WANT YOU AWAY FROM ME! PLEASE!" However, he didn't retreat. He couldn't, not even if he had wanted to. He had to admit, there was a certain…appeal to pinning the girl to the wall with his body, a very sexual appeal. But that was neither here nor there. His priority was to stop her thrashing and her screaming: surely it would wake the castle?

So he did the first thing that came to mind. He kissed her.

XXX

Disclaimer: You know, if I was rolling in the money I made from publishing/writing these wonderful Harry Potter books... I don't think I'd be sitting here writing a fanfiction with the ship of D/Hr. sigh I own nothing. Everything is JKR's, although I do own the plot. )

Warning: Language.

**Chapter Eight: The Aftermath**

It did indeed, quiet the distressed girl. Claiming her mouth with his own, he had succeeded in stopping her screams, but she continued to thrash her body around every which way, more intensely since he had placed his lips on hers. And there they remained still, his lips pressing against hers, and she tried to scream, but only managed a small squeak against his mouth.

At her attempted yell, Draco slowly slipped his tongue into her mouth, trying to silence her even more. He wasn't ready for the bolt of electricity that shot through him, feeling like it singed every nerve ending in his body. He had never experienced this kind of sensation before, and quite honestly, he liked it. But with a mudblood? With _Granger?_

He continued to explore the cavern of her mouth, and was pleased beyond belief when she finally stopped moving about so theatrically, and subdued to his ministrations, kissing him back. It was surprising, yes, but incredibly pleasant. She tasted like an intoxicating new alcohol, only ever sampled by him.

Thinking he had succeeded in his mission to stop her tantrum, he pulled back, breathing a bit more heavily than normal, and stared at her. Hermione smiled and stepped toward him, but it immediately turned into a frown and she hauled off and slapped him — the sorry bastard that he was, in her opinion.

"How _dare_ you!" she breathed, and then she fled from the corridor towards their dormitories.

For the second time in his years at Hogwarts, he had been hit by Granger. Raising a hand to his cheek, he gently skimmed the tips of his fingers over the tender skin that Hermione had left blazing red. Just that feather light touch had him taking in a sharp breath of pain.

After another couple of minutes standing there, Draco turned on his heel and headed the way Hermione had just fled.

What had he just done? Had he _actually_ kissed that filthy mudblood? Had he tainted his lips with hers? How stupid could he have been? _I've disgraced my family,_ he thought moodily. _Father will never accept this, even if my actions weren't out of any emotional instincts… That's it then, isn't it? I didn't kiss her because I have feelings for her… it was a way to shut her up effectively. Father could understand that, couldn't he? He's a rational man, himself, being the Dark Lord's right hand man, after all. _And he, himself, was supposed to follow in his father's footsteps, to become a Death Eater, and the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor.

This wasn't supposed to happen, dammit! That kiss was not supposed to happen, that dream wasn't supposed to happen. NONE OF THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE TAKEN PLACE! He shouldn't even see Granger as part of the female/male relationship scheme of things. She had dirty blood, he knew that, knew it and yet he couldn't shake the feeling of yearning in the pit of his stomach, the yearning he knew was entirely primal and animalistic.

Draco kept fighting himself until he came to the stretch of stone wall that hid his and Hermione's common room and bedrooms. Rhianna materialized out of the stone and purred "Password?"

"Television," he muttered, and stepped through to the room beyond almost immediately. He was too exhausted to think anymore, and all he wanted was a hot shower and to collapse into bed. Upon entering his bedroom, he heard the water running through the door and groaned in frustration: she had even stripped him of a shower before bed. Sighing, he undressed until he was just in his boxers and fell haphazardly onto his bed; he was asleep in five minutes.

XXX

Meanwhile in the shower, the internal conflict within Hermione was raging. Why had that kiss affected her so? This was Malfoy. Not Harry, not Krum. But Malfoy. The jolt of longing that had swept up and down her spine as he had cornered her up against the wall was unexpected. She thought it was just lust, but when his lips had met her own, she knew she was lost. She may not like what he stood for, but she knew that that one little kiss had thrown her over the edge and she wasn't coming back up.

The water was hot as it streamed over her hair and down her back. She wanted her mind to go numb; she didn't want to think about the butterflies that would start whenever they were together, or the shy glances at him during classes or any of the other things that came with wanting someone like she now wanted Malfoy. Oh God, she _wanted_ him. She actually wanted him.

Lathering her hair in fragrant shampoo, she let her thoughts topple over one another.

Maybe this was another episode like the one she'd had with Harry. Maybe she only _thought_ she was falling for Malfoy. Maybe she was attracted to the image of a bad boy now, because she had spent so much time with Harry and Ron, accompanying them on so many heroic adventures; yes that _had_ to be it. Hermione Granger was a good girl through and through — this attraction to Draco Malfoy was simply a phase. It had to be. She was too clever, too smart to fall for a Slytherin. Not to mention she was one hundred percent sure that Malfoy would follow in his father's footsteps and become a Death Eater, to have that foul mark burned into the flesh of his left forearm.

No. She couldn't — wouldn't — let that happen.

The water that was still running dependably upon her head now ran cold, incredibly cold. For this to have happened, she had to have been in the shower for two hours, at least. Freezing, she turned off the water and wrapped one of the nearby towels tightly around her body, which was glimmering with water droplets.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she scrutinized every inch of her form. About five foot four inches, she guessed; the small swell of her breasts had increased a bit over the duration of summer and she was pleased that she now had _some_ woman-hood, although she found the rest of her body very disproportionate.

Overall, she didn't like how she looked. The only thing she truly thought beautiful of herself were her eyes, large and honey brown. There was something about them that intrigued her. The flicker of intelligence was a large part of that, but there was something underlying that glow. Sadness, perhaps? Weariness? It hadn't been there before that summer. Before her father…

She used to think herself okay looking, but her father had destroyed that little bit of confidence she'd had in her appearance. He'd completely shattered it into millions of pieces with every time he violated her, which were many. Not just in her room, and the kitchen, but also in her parents' own bed, the floor, the shower… Anywhere that he could get to her.

He terrified her now beyond belief, to the point where she never wanted to see his face again, never have to hear him coo in her ear…

Hermione slid down the wall, tears silently racing down her cheeks. She shook with suppressed sobs and soon fell asleep right there, sitting against the white tile of the bathroom, covered by nothing but a navy blue towel, tears sliding down her cheeks.

XXX

Everyone gets them — you know, the get-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-to-use-the-potty urges. And on this particular night, Draco had to go.

Stumbling out of bed in the grogginess of sleep, Draco made his way to the adjoining bathroom directly in front of his four-poster bed. He didn't notice the light seeping from the bit of space on all sides of the door, and was momentarily blinded upon opening it. His vision cleared a bit and he went to do his business, still stuck in that semi-conscious state, not picking up on the pile of hair and towel lying at the base of the shower.

The bathroom was spacious, as it included a Jacuzzi jet tub in white marble, a shower with eight shower heads, plus a very large commode and a counter that housed four sinks. The two people were at opposite ends of the bathroom, so it was only natural that Draco hadn't noticed her. Upon turning around, however, he spotted the passed out Hermione, lying in a heap.

Instantly alarmed, he rushed to her side, assuming she had slipped and hit her head on the floor. But after further inspection of her head, Draco realized she was only sleeping, her face streaked with dried tears.

But why was she sleeping in the bathroom, of all places, crying, and in nothing but a towel (he had refrained from succumbing to the temptation of taking a peek underneath it)? Gently, so as not to wake her, Draco picked up her sleeping form and carried her into her room and laid her on the bed. A gleam of gold caught his eye and turning his head, he saw a black book with Hermione's name imprinted on the cover.

Flipping open the cover, he saw it was a gift from her parents, a diary. Setting it back upon the nightstand, Draco wrote Hermione a note, then took one last look at her before he retired to his own bed.

XXX

The next morning, Hermione found Draco's note on her still towel-covered belly. Unfolding it, she read:

_Granger,_

_I'm sure you don't remember at the moment, but last night you fell asleep in the bathroom. I found you (obviously) and carried you to bed. I did not peek under your towel, as I'm sure you're thinking I did. If you do not believe me, I'll gladly take someveritaserum to ease your mind. I don't get off on taking advantage of unconscious women. I don't advise the bathroom as a sleeping place, either. Please don't make a habit of it. It's most uncomfortable to stumble upon an almost naked girl in a bathroom. And I also think we should talk about what occurred last night on patrol. In the morning, preferably. I'd like to go to classes with this problem resolved so I can focus my attention on the work. See you in the morning, Granger._

_Malfoy _

Looking down, Hermione was surprised that she believed him when he said he hadn't lifted the towel to rake his eyes over her naked body. As surprising as that was, she was even more surprised that Malfoy _hadn't_ done it. He hadn't been one to give off vibes of morality, especially toward her.

_Maybe he isn't a ruthless bastard, _Hermione thought, as she began to dress herself for the day. _Maybe he does have a soft side underneath his cruel façade. _After a quick glance in the mirror, Hermione went in search of the Slytherin.

She found him in the common room, a book propped open on his lap. Hearing her footsteps, he marked his page and set the volume aside, then turned to face her.

Her entire facial expression was one of nervousness, and it reminded him of a five year old about to have his first ride on a toy broomstick. The thought amused him, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he quickly restrained the impulse, and Hermione began to edge her way timidly over to the couch on which he sat.

"Malfoy," she said calmly; this was quite a feat, seeing as her stomach was tying itself in knots with every step she took toward him. She knew he wanted to talk about the kiss, to tell her it meant absolutely nothing and that it was something impulsive, that he'd gone temporarily insane and if he'd been right in the head, he never would have kissed the likes of her, a mudblood. But all the same, deep down, she really wanted to hear him say it was the best kiss of his life and all he wanted to do was sit with her on that very couch, in front of a crackling fire, and snog her until they were both breathless, and then begin again. But she knew that wasn't going to happen. It never would. _Get over it, Granger_ she told herself firmly.

"Granger," Draco replied even more coolly. As Hermione took a seat beside him — even though she made sure she was as far from him as possible —, he noticed the anxiety playing in her eyes, the taut line of her lips. She was bracing herself, he realized, delighted with his effect on her. But for what, exactly? She knew better than to think he'd proclaim any fire that may have sparked between them the previous night.

After a deep breath, Hermione started, "So. I'm here Malfoy. Let's talk." She seemed indifferent to the whole thing, businesslike, if you will. If she wanted to work it that way, then so would he.

"Well. Let me just say I deserved to be slapped. I was out of line, and I know it. But just know I'm not normally like that. I've never been forceful with a woman in my life. And I don't intend to start. And kissing you was the only thing that came to mind when I realized you would wake the whole castle if I didn't shut you up. Believe me, there was no emotion involved."

Hermione's heart sank. It was just as she'd expected, but that didn't stop it from hurting. Resignedly, she lifted her chin. "You thought I felt something? Hah! Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I felt _nothing_. Really, you're too conceited for your own good." A moment of silence ensued, and Hermione finally whispered, "Thanks, Malfoy."

It surprised him after her challenge of his being too egotistical, especially since he didn't know what the thanks was for. "For what, Granger?"

"For putting me to bed last night. I… I guess I was just a little more tired than I thought. I just wanted to say thank you. And, uhm, I believe you. About the… the erm, not peeking thing."

A blush was borne high on her cheekbones as she stood up. "Well, I better get to class. See you later tonight, Malfoy." Without a backward glance, she left the room, hair flowing gracefully behind her.

And Draco was once again, left speechless.

XXX

_Dear Diary,_

_I know it's wrong. I know it, and yet I can't help but want it with everything that I am. _

_The past few days have been… incredibly peaceful between us. It's as if all the enmity that used to exist never was, and it's a budding friendship just realized. We don't argue as much, and he hasn't called me a mudblood for over a week now. I may just be a hopeless romantic, but maybe being around me is changing him for the better. Oh, if only it were so! It'd be an amazing thing if I had such an impact on him, that he turned away from Voldemort and joined the side of the light. He'd be a wonderful asset to the Order. I can feel it. _

_We're even working on homework together. And believe it or not, we've been helping each other when we don't understand something. Can you believe it? I never thought that I'd ever have a real conversation with him, and yet now we're study buddies. How ironic._

_The more I get to know him, the more his intellect appeals to me, and thatfeeling I've had since the night in the corridor when he kissed me has only grown. There's hardly an hour that I don't think of him anymore. To be honest, I'm scared beyond belief. I've never felt this for anyone but Harry. And that proved to be a mistake, completely wrong. What if this between us is entirely the same? What if he doesn't see me as I see him? Not only a smart individual, but also someone I could learn to love? That I may already love…_

_I don't like thinking about it, but I can confide in you. You won't betray my trust as people can. I can pour my heart and soul to you and you'll never criticize my opinions. _

_But I can criticize myself, and I don't want to fall for him. I don't want to be hurt. I'm afraid of my heart breaking. And I think it might be a mistake if I let myself want him, if I let myself need him. I certainly don't want to become dependent on him, in any way shape or form. I won't let myself. I can't afford to fall into that abyss of emotions. I won't let myself fall any further than I already have for Draco Malfoy._

XXX

It was a month into school and Hermione still had yet to have Harry and Ron visit her in her new living accommodations. She had been back to the Gryffindor common room numerous times, not only to visit Harry and Ron, but also Ginny and other acquaintances.

On one of these visits, Hermione learned that Ginny and Dean were having relationship troubles. It didn't surprise her. Dean was a very jealous person, and only became more so when it came to his girlfriends. If he spotted Ginny even speaking to Harry, or any other boy for that matter, he'd instantly pull her aside and interrogate her about her intentions with the boy in question. If she was interested the guy, if she was cheating. Being exactly like her mother in some areas of her disposition, Ginny didn't appreciate being questioned like this and flared up, yelling at her boyfriend, causing a scene.

It was heaven for Parvati and Lavender, who were the gossip queens of Gryffindor house. Anything you wanted to know, just ask those two.

And upon entering the common room one evening after dinner, Parvati and Lavender rushed up to her. "Did you hear?" they asked excitedly.

"Hear what?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Ginny and Dean had a row! The biggest one yet! And boy… it's not very pretty. Ginny used her bat bogey hex on him, and you know what he did?" Lavender was quivering, she was so excited.

Stifling a giggle because this trembling reminded her of a Chihuahua, Hermione asked, "What did Dean do?"

With a significant look at each other, Parvati answered, "He hexed her back!" Hermione gasped. Whether in the muggle or wizarding world, men didn't hit women, be it their hands or magic flowing from their wands. Dean had always seemed like a gentleman to Hermione and this completely shocked her.

"What hex did he use?" she asked. _Oh, Lord, I'm starting to sound just like them,_ she thought. But she couldn't help it, she was curious.

"I'm not sure, but it hit her cheek and it's a lump the size of a golf ball and its all nasty, green and purple like." Lavender looked like she was going to retch at the memory of it.

Worried, Hermione asked, "Where is she?" Lavender and Parvati pointed to an overstuffed couch by the fire simultaneously, where a group of people surrounded it. Rushing over, Hermione pulled out her wand.

"Stand aside, let me look at her. Excuse me." She pushed her way through, and Ginny looked better than expected after Lavender and Parvati's descriptions. The lump was barely noticeable, and it wasn't green and purple. A bit bruised perhaps, but nothing too serious.

"Ginny, are you alright?" Hermione asked. After all, Ginny was her best female friend at Hogwarts and her safety was very important.

"Yes, I'm fine 'Mione. It's just a scratch, really." That's all it seemed to be.

"Where's Dean?" Hermione asked the people at large.

"He ran up to his dormitory!" someone yelled.

"I'll be right back," Hermione promised. Ginny nodded, and so Hermione left for the staircase to the boys' rooms. She found Dean on his bed, looking extremely forlorn and upset.

"Hmph," Hermione said disgustedly as she stood in front of Dean's bed, staring at him with venom in her eyes.

Looking up at her, Dean explained himself. "I didn't mean too, Hermione. Honest! When I saw her point her wand at me, I…I panicked! It was the first spell in my mind. If I could take it back I would, I feel awful! I never hit girls! Never, ever, ever…"

"Did she dump you, yet?" Hermione asked scathingly.

"What! No! She never said anything about breaking up with me! Oh, God, I really screwed things up, I need to talk to her! I need to apologize, I need to — "

"What you need to do, Dean, is stay away from her. She doesn't need to see any more of you at the moment. She has to tend to her injuries. If I hear you're pestering her, it's detention. I mean it Dean. You stay the hell away from her."

"But, Hermione! She's going to dump me, I _need_ to talk to her!"

"You don't need to do anything but what I told you, Dean. She may or may not dump you. She hasn't said a thing to me, but then again I only just got here. But like I said, stay away from her. If she doesn't break it off with you, I'll be thoroughly surprised." With one last glance up and down his face she spat, "Pitiful," and walked out of the room.

"Come on, Ginny. I want Madam Pomfrey to take a look at it. Just to be on the safe side." With a warm smile, she coaxed Ginny up out of the couch and led her to the hospital wing.

XXX

Ron was furious. How _dare_ Dean do that, to his sister. Oh, was he gonna get it when he saw him. Ron was going to rip him limb from limb. He always knew that Dean wasn't good enough for his baby sister. He never was and never would be. If Ginny didn't break it off, Ron would sure as hell do that, and maybe break off something else in the process, something Dean would miss very, very, much.

The thought made Ron smile. Finally, someone to take his heartache and aggression out on. He still hadn't gotten over the hurt that had been inside him since the train ride to Hogwarts. He may not ever get over it. He'd never been so depressed in his life, not even when he was doing horrible at quidditch, wanting to resign. No, this was much, much, worse.

And Dean was the perfect target to aim all of his hurt at. "WHERE IS THE FUCKING BASTARD!" Ron screamed as he entered the Gryffindor common room. A few people jumped at the volume with which Ron was yelling. But simultaneously, everyone looked to the boys' dormitories.

Without another word, Ron ran up the stairs and out of sight.

XXX

Hermione was on her way back from dropping Ginny off at the hospital wing and was almost back to her own room, thinking longingly of a hot bubble bath in the Jacuzzi tub, when someone pulled her into a dark, unused corridor.

A hand clamped over her mouth and she was facing away from her captor. As he began to force her forward with the weight of his body, he whispered in her ear: "Not a peep, Granger. Not. A. Peep." Hermione nodded in understanding and continued to walk forward, fear exploding into her mind. Who was doing this to her? She hadn't recognized the voice that had spoken. It had been deep and gruff and entirely new to her. The hand that was covering her mouth was tan, a bit calloused, most likely from playing quidditch.

What was happening to her? Where was he taking her?

Only one possible situation occurred to her, and it was the one she wanted no more of: _rape_

XXX

**AN: **Another chapter has come and gone! I'd like you all to know that your reviews are GREATLY appreciated, and even though I don't respond to them here, I do try to email you all personally and thank you. Your reviews motivate me to write. The next chapter will hopefully be up in the next week-2weeks.

**Chapter Nine: Wrong Place, Wrong Time _Is Hermione raped as this chapter implies? Or is it simply someone trying to get her by herself for a little alone time? Stay tuned. )_**


	9. Wrong Place, Wrong Time

**Recap: **A hand clamped over her mouth and she was facing away from her captor. As he began to force her forward with the weight of his body, he whispered in her ear: "Not a peep, Granger. Not. A. Peep." Hermione nodded in understanding and continued to walk forward, fear exploding into her mind. Who was doing this to her? She hadn't recognized the voice that had spoken. It had been deep and gruff and entirely new to her. The hand that was covering her mouth was tan, a bit calloused, most likely from playing quidditch.

What was happening to her? Where was he taking her?

Only one possible situation occurred to her, and it was the one she wanted no more of: _rape_.

XXX

Disclaimer: I wish I could claim these wonderful people that have made my life enjoyable. But, alas, they are all of Rowling's creation, and therefore, I own nothing.

Warning: There is some sexual content in this chapter, along with some other touchy subjects, such as rape and self-mutilation. I apologize for the morbidity, but it's essential for the story line. You've been warned.

**Chapter Nine: Wrong Place, Wrong Time**

"Ron, wait!" Harry ran breathlessly after his red headed friend, hoping that he caught up in time to tame the fury that was sure to be unleashed on Dean. Ron's temper was a force not to be reckoned with, and when Dean had hexed Ginny, not only was he reckoning with Ron, but also _challenging_ him. Nothing good could come of it.

"Ron! Keep your head, please! Calm down, let's talk about it!" Even though he knew that Ron's rage blocked out all else, Harry felt he had to at least _try_ to get through to him.

Ron was a foot away from Dean when Harry threw himself into the dormitory. Depending on his Seeker reflexes, Harry drew his wand and yelled "_Petrificus Totalus!_" Ron was stopped in his tracks, and fell backward with a thud to the floor. Harry could see the heat in his eyes.

"Get yourself out of here, Dean. I'll talk with you later." Without a word, Dean scrambled off the bed, around Ron, leaving ample room between himself and the highly irritated Weasley. Once he had secured the door, Harry returned to Ron and lifted the body bind off of him.

"Just hear me out, Ron. What would tearing Dean limb from limb prove?"

"He hurt my sister! You expect me to sit here and do _nothing?_" Ron screamed.

"The damage is already done. There's no point." Harry replied softly.

"Harry, you don't understand! She's my sister! I have to do _something! _I may not be able to do anything about whatever the hell is going on between you and Hermione, but I'm not letting that slimy little bag of dragon dung hurt my sister and get a way with it. Not like you two hurt me!" Ron's face was as red as his hair, and his rage was burning him from the inside, out, and he didn't even realize what had just slipped off his tongue.

He left the room in a huff, leaving Harry to sort out his thoughts. _What_ about him and Hermione?

XXX

_Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. It's happening. Oh my God, it's really happening. _Hermione was scared beyond belief, beyond all reason. Her only thought now was that she was done for. Whoever was holding her against her will was going to rape her, and then kill her. She'd never see Harry or Ron again, not even Lavender or Parvati. She wouldn't be able to take her N.E.W.T.s!

She wasn't even struggling against her captor. She was just walking as he led her through another door that was at the opposite end from the one they had just entered. It was getting colder, and Hermione shivered. The man with his hand over her mouth began to talk to her, calmly, even cheerfully.

"Oh, this is going to be such fun," he whispered maliciously. "You of all people. Ha! I never would have dreamed of it, but since you've been spending more time with Malfoy, you need to be put back in your place before you think you can consider yourself an equal among us purebloods."

His free hand whipped in front of her and settled upon her belly, pushing her back into his chest. Not only could she feel his heart beat now, but she could also feel the newly formed erection pressing into her lower back. It only increased her panic, and she began to squeal, fruitlessly, into the palm of the hand over her mouth. Not to mention she now had an idea of the size of her adversary… and he was large.

He chuckled. "Well, you have some fight in you, anyways. Good. I enjoy a challenge." Abruptly, he spun her around and slammed her, very hard, against the stone wall of the room they were currently in. Hermione's head smacked the wall smartly, and stars erupted in front of her eyes. "That's going to leave a nasty bump, in the morning."

By the time her vision cleared, Hermione's skirt had already been dropped to her ankles, as were her silk panties. She tried screaming. But no sound came out. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," she heard by her ear. "You, of all people, should know that I wouldn't let you scream, just in case anyone happened to wander down here."

The man pulled his face back, and Hermione blanched. It was Vincent Crabbe. The nasty sonofabitch that he was, he was grinning stupidly at her as he began to undo her blouse. "This will be so much fun," he said after he had finished with the last button and was gazing at the pale pink brassiere that matched her recently removed panties. With a cocky smile, he added, "Who would have known plain, prude Granger would have such taste in under garments?"

Hermione's eyes were burning with hatred. How dare he look at her this way? How dare he try to take advantage of her? But as she was thinking these things, Crabbe shoved two fingers into her, probing savagely. His eyes lightened with surprise. "Well, Granger. You aren't as prude as I thought. No proof of virginity, here," he said, as he continued to let his fingers roam inside of her. "So who'd you fuck? Weasley? Potter? Figures, you spend so much time together. Or did you all do it together? Wait 'til this gets out."

Crabbe's breathing was becoming heavy as he continued to maneuver his fingers clumsily inside her. Hermione, however, did nothing. What, with all the times her father had done this to her, she knew to just be still and get it over with. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't allow Crabbe the satisfaction of seeing just how much this was ripping her apart. Now, not only was she a victim of incest, but also of regular rape.

After another few minutes, Crabbe withdrew his fingers, and began to leave slobbery kisses all over Hermione's neck and chest. When he came to the barrier of the silk bra, he growled in frustration, and ripped the thing off of her, leaving it in tatters on the floor. Greed filled his eyes and he latched his mouth over one of her nipples, biting painfully. No sound would have escaped from Hermione's lips, even if she hadn't been placed under a silencing charm. Crabbe moved to the other breast.

_Okay Hermione, just like you do with Daddy, put yourself some place else. You're in a meadow full of green grass and flowers, just lying there staring up at the clouds. There's a yellow lab lying next to you, and you're stroking it lovingly. Laughter is carried to you by the wind, coming from a small cabin surrounded by blossoming bushes of roses. You sit up, and see a little girl bounding toward you, white blonde hair flying behind her, shining in the bright sunlight. Looking past her bright smile, you see a little boy of about two with brown hair tugging on the robes of a man. Your husband. You look up and you see your husbands face, smiling down at your son, then looking at you as the little girl runs into you, toppling into your lap. Everything is as perfect as it could be. Two beautiful children, a lovely home, and a husband. A loving husband with the whitest blond hair, the most gorgeous gray eyes you'd ever seen. And you were Mrs. Dra—_

Her senses snapped back to attention however, at that precise moment, for Crabbe had just driven himself into Hermione with such force, her head was yet again snapped against stone and stars exploded before her. With each thrust, Crabbe bit Hermione somewhere, anywhere he could reach. He was being so… sexually sadistic, biting the girl's shoulder, her neck, her breasts. In a few places he drew blood.

When he had pleasured himself enough in the form of penetration, he threw Hermione down to the floor completely ripping the loose clothes from her body. Now, he let his tongue drift lazily over her stomach, down and down until he stopped, and began to probe, not with his fingers this time, but with tongue.

Hermione was so repulsed. She just wanted to die. She'd had enough. But Crabbe was done sooner than expected, and he stood up and looked down at her, smiling smugly. "You were a good fuck, Granger. Hell of a lot better than I would have thought possible. Now… what should I do with you?" Laughing, he began to kick her: in the face, her stomach, her back, between the legs. Once she was bruised and bloody enough for his satisfaction, Crabbe bent down and brushed the hair from her face so he could look into her eyes.

"I hope you die down here, Granger. No doubt you will, seeing I probably broke some of your ribs. And you're having trouble breathing," he said, as Hermione wheezed. "Good." His smile only grew broader when she coughed up blood. "Internal bleeding. Exactly what I wanted. You _will_ die down here, mudblood. No one will come looking for you down here. But, to be _fair_, I'll take off the silencing charm. It's not like you can scream, anyway."

With that, Crabbe turned and left Hermione in a pool of blood.

XXX

How could he not have noticed? It was so plainly obvious. It seemed that everyone he asked had known, and yet, he, one of the people closest to Ron, had failed to see it. Harry had failed to see that Ron liked Hermione a lot. And, according to everyone, he had for quite a long time.

_Where could he have gone? After Dean, of course, but where was that? _Harry continued to patrol the halls, keeping an eye out for bright red hair, and listening for yells. He'd been doing this for over an hour, now and was tiring of it quickly. He wasn't in the mood to play peacemaker. If anything, he wanted to hurt something, or someone, himself.

Just where did Ron get off thinking that Harry and Hermione would keep something as huge as dating each other (if they _had _been dating each other) a secret from him? If anything, they would have told him the moment that they started seeing each other. They wouldn't want to ruin the bond that three had made throughout all their adventures and six years of friendship.

Fuming, Harry walked through Nearly Headless Nick, and felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him.

"Dear boy, watch where you're going!"

"Sorry, Nick," muttered Harry. "I'm just… preoccupied. Have you seen Ron or Dean anywhere?"

"Actually, yes. I passed Ron just a few moments ago. He's sitting in one of the empty classrooms down the Charms corridor. Seemed quite distressed."

"Thanks," Harry said, and dashed down the hall, making a sharp turn when he hit the charms corridor. Oh boy, was Ron gonna get it. Harry was going to give him a piece of his mind, the likes of which he'd never experienced.

Harry felt betrayed; how could Ron think that he'd keep something that important from him after so many years of trusting each other with their _lives?_ It just didn't make sense. It was like Ron didn't trust him at all anymore, and that stung more than anything. Harry remembered back to second year when everyone had deserted him, thinking he was the heir of Slytherin. He didn't want that distance and cold shoulder from Ron ever again. But come hell or high water, Harry was going to let Ron know that he didn't appreciate being accused of something that hadn't even happened, more over, something that Ron hadn't even asked him of.

Throwing open each unlocked door he passed, Harry continued to pump himself up, ready for the encounter between himself and his spitfire best friend. But when he finally found the classroom in which Ron was hiding, all thoughts of going after him verbally were swept from his mind. What he saw was entirely unexpected, and all he wanted to do was rush Ron to the hospital wing.

Ron looked up when he heard the door swing open, and he tried to cover the sinful marks he had just created, but with no success. Sighing, Ron turned his back on Harry. He had a lot of explaining to do.

XXX

What was she going to do? She was naked, her clothes torn and tattered, and she could barely move, for the pain was so great. Wincing with every breath she took, Hermione slowly, very slowly, made her way to the pile of torn clothes. The only thought in her mind was that she had to cover herself. What if someone came down and saw her, lying there, naked?

Tears began to fall. She couldn't stop them, and no matter how hard she tried, the salty drops only fell faster.

After another several minutes of excruciating pain and determined effort, Hermione had managed to bring herself to the pile of tattered clothing. Rummaging around, she found her skirt mercifully intact (this had been disposed of long before Crabbe had taken to destroying her clothes); she slipped it on, so glad to have some sense of dignity. With the rest of the ripped material beside her, she covered the top of herself as best she could.

For the next twenty minutes, Hermione lay there on her back, praying that someone would come and find her, hoping that she wouldn't be here until morning.

And her prayers were answered in the form of a raven-haired, violet-eyed little girl.

XXX

The fire crackled in its grate, and Draco sat on a couch before it, working on a Potions essay. It wasn't easy work for him; he was still riled that somehow, Potter had gotten into the N.E.W.T. potions class when he had only achieved an excellent. This irked Draco terribly and caused him to lose his focus on the task at hand.

Sighing in frustration, Draco set his book and half written essay on the table in front of the fire, planning to finish it later, when he heard screams coming from outside the wall that disguised the entrance to the common room.

Curious, he went to the wall and summoned Rhianna, who appeared instantly.

"It is some little black haired girl," Rhianna began. "She is speaking of Miss Granger telling her to come here and tell you that she is extremely hurt and needs assistance."

"Let me through," Draco said with duty in his voice. "Where is she?" he asked Kaiden, as tears spilled down her flushed cheeks.

"This way," and Kaiden began to run full out back the way she had come. If they didn't get there soon, Hermione was going to be dead, she knew it. Being empathic had its advantages, she thought morosely, such as saving a life.

Draco's on mind however was concentrated elsewhere. _What has the mud— I mean, muggleborn, gotten herself into? Surely she can take care of herself well enough. She's practically a walking encyclopedia, for Heaven's sake. It would only be too easy to reach back into that full reservoir of knowledge she had and cast the appropriate spell. Maybe this little girl was just trying to play a joke on him. If she was, she was in for a very nasty reality check._

"Just a bit further!" the girl urged, hurtling around a corner that was hardly ever used by the student body. After rounding the corner in question himself, all thought fled from him as he saw Hermione lying on the floor, bruised and bloody, ragged breaths barely reaching his ears. _Oh. My. God,_ he thought.

Rushing to her side, he screamed at Kaiden "Go up to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey to get a bed ready, and quickly! Tell her the state that Hermione's in and don't leave until I get there, I still want to talk to you."

"But, what about —" Kaiden began but Draco cut her off.

"GO!" he shouted. How dense could she be that she didn't know to take direction to save someone's life? Looking back down at Hermione, an unpleasant lump formed in the back of his throat, he gently patted her bloody cheek, wishing her awake.

Her eyes fluttered about half way open and looked into the eyes of her savior. "Draco?" she murmured weakly. "It… it hurts," she hissed.

"I know. I'm here to help. And it's going to hurt worse for a couple minutes. I need to lift you up and get you to the hospital wing straight away. Can you sit up at all?" He noticed her trying and quickly cut her short. "Obviously not. Okay, I'm going to pick you up, and it's going to hurt, but I'll be as gentle as possible, okay?" At Hermione's nod, Draco scooped her into his arms like he had that night in the bathroom, and he began to sprint toward the hospital wing.

It didn't even occur to him about simply levitating Hermione's body to the hospital wing. It would have saved her a great deal of pain, and he, a tremendous amount of physical drain, but he hadn't even considered that option. By holding her body in his arms, and not by his wand, he had broken the first bit of the wall that his father had erected so preciously around Draco's mind, closing it to anything but what he had been taught to believe. It was a big step, and neither himself nor Hermione were aware of it.

After another five minutes, Draco sprinted into the dimly lit hospital wing, setting Hermione on the bed that Madam Pomfrey had prepared upon the little girl's frantic urging.

Gasping as she saw Hermione, Madam Pomfrey drew her wand from the apron around her dress and began muttering healing spells over the girl's face and arms. When it came to the rest of her body, Madam Pomfrey urged Draco to leave for a few moments while attending to the cuts and abrasions on Hermione's torso and upper leg (she could save the girl some of her dignity, at least).

Pacing in agony of the unknown, Draco's temper rose and he accidentally busted the closest nearby window. If only he knew Hermione's condition, he could go back to his Potion's essay. And why did he care so much about how she was doing? If she was stabilized yet? She was nothing but a lowly mud — muggleborn — and a Gryffindor. He shouldn't worry about her, but he did. And that was the whole problem. He didn't _want _to worry about her, in any way, shape or form, and the only way he was going to stop that from happening was if he severed all ties from the girl that he had been getting along with nicely enough for the past week. And therein lied the other problem: he didn't want to shun her out of his life. She had proved to be a very good conversationalist and had helped him in the few areas of his studies that needed improving. How could he go back to despising her with everything that he was after she had so graciously helped him with homework, had talked to him without any resentment in her voice?

Kaiden poked her head out of the infirmary door and tentatively asked, "Draco? Do you still wish to speak with me?"

"Yes. Come here." His voice was a bit more clipped than he had wanted, but she responded without complaint, and that satisfied him immensely. "Now, tell me. How exactly did you find her? That corridor is hardly used by any students, and you're only a first year. You need not go down there on your own."

"Well… do you know what empaths are, Draco?" It surprised him that she addressed him with his given name, and not his last.

"Yes, I do, but what does that have to do with —"

"Look at my eyes, Draco. What color are they?" Kaiden asked simply, smiling up at him. With closer inspection, he saw that her eyes were a deep violet, not the brown color he had thought they originally were.

"You're an empath," he breathed.

"Yes, I am. And I assume you know what exactly an empath tunes into."

"Yes, pain but —"

"Pain of the heart and mind. It wasn't her physical pain that drew me, Draco. It was because her soul was suffering, not from what she had just experienced, but from the memories it stirred in her. Memories she so desperately wants to forget." Kaiden was staring intently into Draco's face and wished she could tell him all that she had seen as she saw Hermione lying there in a pool of her own blood.

"What kinds of memories?" Draco asked. He was genuinely interested in what horrible things had happened to the know-it-all Granger, and was dissatisfied with Kaiden's reply.

"I can't tell you that. Even though I know, it is for her to tell you, if and when, she chooses to do so. Being an empath is a burden as much, if not more, than it is a blessing, Draco. Remember that. I have to go. I'll come visit Hermione later tomorrow. During morning break, most likely. Owl me and let me know how she does through the night." Without showing a hint of revulsion on her face at the images rushing through her mind, she turned and headed back to the Gryffindor common room, feeling exhausted, and sorry for Hermione for all that she had been put through.

Back in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was just putting dabs of a healing paste on Hermione's face that was supposed to help prevent scarring, when Draco burst in, unable to contain himself any longer.

"TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER, OR I SWEAR, I'LL CURSE YOU!" Draco bellowed, flinging his wand at the medi-witch.

"Calm down, mister Malfoy! Dear me," she muttered, puttering about in a drawer of a nightstand by Hermione's bed. "Miss Granger, here, will be just fine. You can stay another hour, but after that, you need to leave. She needs her rest, and she can't do that with you breathing down her neck every ten seconds."

For that was exactly what he was doing. Draco had lowered his face 'til it was three inches from hers, studying every scratch and bruise that adorned her face, and any other part of skin showing. It hurt him to look at her this way, he realized.

Just as he was bending up from her bed, the hospital wing door burst open, and two people rushed in, carrying another.

"MADAM POMFREY! WE NEED YOU RIGHT NOW, WE HAVE A SERIOUS CONDITION ON OUR HANDS!" one of the people screamed, his voice clipped and tight.

The other person that had helped carry in the body was a girl, crying. "_Please_," she whispered, into the hands that covered her face.

Looking over at the bed on which the boy had been deposited, all Draco could see was blood; shining, red blood, already seeping onto the white bed sheets.

* * *

**AN: **did you guys know that fanfic might be taking away the author's option of putting author's notes in updates? I think it's complete bull. and I don't have the link where you can sign a petition to stop this from happening, but look around for it if you still want these notes because seriously, how else can I really get through to you guys? So. yea. If you find that site or whatever, please sign it.

Also, I'm a member of a Harry Potter fan forum. It's called Godric's Hollow and we really need members. I'm Slytherin HoH, moderator (soon-to-be co-administrator), and the DADA teacher. Please join. It can be really fun. We have games, fanfic request/recommendation sections and much more. If you do join, when you take the Sorting quiz, please mention that xTaylorMichelle referred you to the site. Hope to see you in Slytherin guys!  
http/xxheadmistress. sorry for the delay on this chapter, guys. It's been done for a while, but I like being a chapter ahead. Just makes me feel more secure. But here you are!

**Chapter Ten: Sentry Duty _Who is it that came into the Hospital Wing, screaming for their dying friend? And who exactly _**_is** the person bleeding all over those sheets?**_

Next chapter should be posted within two weeks. Please be patient, you guys. School's started and it'll take me a bit longer to get these chapters out. Just stick with me. )


	10. Sentry Duty

**Recap:** Just as he was bending up from her bed, the hospital wing door burst open, and two people rushed in, carrying another.

"MADAM POMFREY! WE NEED YOU RIGHT NOW, WE HAVE A SERIOUS CONDITION ON OUR HANDS!" one of the people screamed, his voice clipped and tight.

The other person that had helped carry in the body was a girl, crying. "_Please_," she whispered, into the hands that covered her face.

Looking over at the bed on which the boy had been deposited, all Draco could see was blood; shining, red blood, already seeping onto the white bed sheets.

XXX

Disclaimer: "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." – Sir Walter Scott. Well, seeing as I'm not too keen in getting tangled up in the web of the law enforcement/judicial system by reporting that this is all mine, I'd like to say that all characters (with the exception of Kaiden) are of JKR's creation. The plot, however… I take all the credit.

Warnings: References to rape. Also, some references of self-mutilation in correspondence to Ron. Language.

**Chapter Ten: Sentry Duty**

Draco was stunned. Now, not only did he have to worry about Hermione's well being, he had to worry about the person that had been deposited on the bed, much to his dismay; because the boy lying on crimson-stained sheets was so connected to Hermione on many different levels, that Draco had no choice.

He stared, transfixed, at the veins popping out of the dark-haired boy's neck and forehead as he screamed over and over for Madam Pomfrey, his voice becoming hoarser the more he yelled. Tears were streaming down his face as well as the girl's, and all Draco could think was that this was a first for him. He had never seen either of these people so vulnerable, and to be honest, it frightened him a bit.

They were Gryffindors, supposedly brave, yet here they were, bawling their eyes out over their fallen comrade. Pain tweaked at Draco's heart, for he realized that even if his fellow Slytherins found him an inch from death, they wouldn't cry over him. Pansy may, perhaps, but she was obsessed with him and it would be only too natural for her to go insane over his condition. But Crabbe and Goyle… Even Zabini or Malcolm — they wouldn't shed one single tear. And perhaps that was what finally made him think, just for a second, and only a second, that the Gryffindors _were_ better people than the Slytherins, regardless of their bloodline. Perhaps their ability to love each other so completely was the reason why Slytherins despised them so much, for they could not love each other the way those of other houses could. Maybe it was all a feud because of jealousy, because they couldn't love, if they wanted to or not.

But Draco quickly disposed of that notion, for it was as inopportune a time to think about such things as it was possible to be. With one last glance at Hermione to make sure she was stable, Draco walked purposefully toward the still raging boy, even though Madam Pomfrey had already begun to work on her patient.

"Potter," Draco began smoothly. Harry jumped a foot into the air, obviously not noticing him earlier. "What happened?"

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry inquired. "You shouldn't be here. I see no Slytherins whatsoever, and if you've only come to poke fun at Ron, myself, or Ginny, you better get running because I'm not taking any bullshit from you at the moment."

Without realizing it, a smirk slipped onto Draco's lips, and the image Harry received was not a good one. "Malfoy, I mean it. Get. Out. Now." Draco, however, didn't move, but looked over to the bed where Madam Pomfrey was muttering healing spells while waving her wand over Ron's arms, hoping to prevent any scarring that might occur because of his self-inflicted injuries.

"Potter, I don't mean any harm to you, or the Weasleys. I just want to know what happened."

"As if I'm going to tell you," Harry spat. "But what are you doing here?"

Without saying a word, Draco stepped to the side and let Harry's gaze fall upon Hermione, who was in a deep sleep. He saw Harry's eyes widen and moved just in time before Harry raced to her bedside, laying the back of his hand atop her forehead and inspecting her injuries.

"What did you do to her, you bloody bastard?" Harry asked, his voice trimmed with silky rage.

"I did _nothing_ to her. I swear it. And even though I may be in Slytherin, my word is good as gold. Believe it or not, I'm actually the one that brought Granger up here. But I'm sure you're not going to believe me. Just ask that little first year Gryffindor, Kaiden — black hair, _violet_ eyes."

Draco's eyes shifted to the unconscious Ron, and surveyed his body. It wasn't his head or legs that were bleeding, but his arms; deep gashes ran length-wise up and down the pale skin, leaving little mounds of red and purple inflamed skin. It was a sickening sight, but Draco continued to watch as the medi-witch continued her work, slowly, but surely closing all of the wounds.

Off in a corner, Ginny cried steadily, understanding completely what had led Ron to this line of action. It was all her fault because she _hadn't _talked to Hermione for him, after she had _promised_ she would. And Hermione had broken his heart when she had kissed Harry (yes, Hermione had told Ginny all about it and the red head had guessed correctly that Ron was completely shattered). Ron didn't know of the kiss, of course, and all for the better. He would probably murder Harry if he found out, and then kill himself.

This thought only made Ginny cry harder. How could she have let this happen? Now her brother was lying in an infirmary bed, bleeding to death, and she could do nothing about it when it was her fault in the first place. This feeling of utter helplessness was new to Ginny, and she hated it.

Harry returned to Ron, demanding a report from Madam Pomfrey about him and Hermione. Once he was satisfied, he flopped into one of the straight back chairs by the beds that visitors were allowed to use. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands, and finally gave in to the sobs that had been fighting for release ever since he had seen Ron on that desk, a look of complete despair, anguish, and regret on his face.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron had muttered, before fainting and falling off the desk. Harry had never been as scared as he had been when he saw Ron fall, as if in slow motion, to the floor. Tears had already begun to fall as he screamed in agony and rushed to his best friend's side. Ron had been deathly pale already and there was a small pool of blood beneath him.

As fast as he could, Harry had gotten Ron onto his shoulder and had ran full out towards the hospital wing, running into Ginny along the way. Upon seeing her brother thrown upon Harry's shoulders, Ginny began to panic. What had happened?

She'd ran along Harry's side until they arrived at the infirmary, where she couldn't continue and collapsed into the chair in which she still sat. She just couldn't believe that her brother, her closest sibling, had tried to commit suicide. She was dreading the inevitability of writing her mother about this. In fact, she didn't think she was going to. Madam Pomfrey was sure to write her parents. At least that awful task would be taken care of by someone else. But her mother would surely write her, if not show up in person, and question her about her brother.

Feeling uncomfortable, Draco sat down on the side of Hermione's bed that was furthest away from Ron's. He stared at her face until he had memorized every little feature upon it, and then looked away. He wasn't going to leave her, he decided. She looked far too fragile and he didn't want the weight on his shoulders if she happened to slip into a coma or worse, succumb to the darkness of death. No. He wouldn't have that guilt put upon him.

It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter, anyways. He was very loyal, and upon picking up her limp form and carrying her here, he had already sealed the deal of being her guard, with no way of turning away from the responsibilities that came with that decision.

"What happened to her?"

Ginny had weakly risen from her chair in the corner, and forced herself to walk over to Hermione's bed. Surprised, Draco looked into her red, swollen, expressive chocolate eyes, and felt sorry for the poor girl. Not only was her brother close to dying, but her best friend was in such critical condition as well. He still hated the Weasleys for being blood traitors, but he couldn't deny that he envied their compassion for other people, instead of being cold, like his family was. The least he could do was tell her what he knew, to ease her mind a bit.

"I don't know exactly. I wasn't there. A little black haired Gryffindor girl named Kaiden told me she found her down in an unused corridor, just lying there. I got her, and brought her here. All I really know is that she was beat up pretty bad."

Why was he doing this? He was a Slytherin for crissakes, and now he was trying to lift a part of a burden that a Gryffindor held on her shoulders, and a blood traitor to boot. What in the hell was he doing? This wasn't the way he would have reacted a month ago. What change had taken place within him that he was now pitying the girl before him?

Rose-colored patches tainted his cheeks in anger, as much as embarrassment, as Ginny said meekly "Thank you, Malfoy." She turned and sat on her brother's bedside, glancing at Harry as she went, who hadn't moved in over ten minutes. He still sat there, staring at the floor, his head in his hands, the form of complete misery.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over to check on Hermione, and said to Draco in passing, "You can stay until nine. But after that, all of you are gone. These two will be perfectly fine in my care." Although she was stern, Draco and Harry were stubborn.

"I'm not leaving!" they both shouted in unison. Madam Pomfrey was a bit shocked, and tried to argue, but to no avail. The boys were determined, and they wouldn't be swayed from staying put.

The look in the boys' eyes was so fierce it stopped Madam Pomfrey (for the first time, mind you) from arguing further. She had a reputation to uphold for being the 'tough medi-witch of Hogwarts,' so she compromised and said, "Fine. If, and _only_ if, you do not disturb these two in any way, shape or form. If you do, you won't be coming back."

The boys nodded in assent and went back to their friends' bedsides, Harry alternating between Ron and Hermione. Every now and again, Harry would glare maliciously at Draco, thinking that there was no way that the Slytherin could possibly care about Hermione, the girl that he had christened 'mudblood,' the girl that he had antagonized for five years of her life.

"So what exactly _are_ you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. It was burning him up inside. How _dare_ Malfoy pretend that he cared about Hermione's well being when everyone in the entire school knew he was destined to be a Death Eater, just like his father?

When Draco didn't respond, but continued his watch over Hermione, Harry repeated the question with more authority in his voice. The head of platinum blond hair turned slowly to face Harry, and the look upon it was furious.

"Potter. I have as much right to be here as you do. If you didn't notice, Granger hasn't been in the Gryffindor common room lately. She's been in the one we _share_. And inevitably, no matter how much you may hate someone at first meeting, the more time you spend with them, the more comfortable you are with them. And I only say comfortable for lack of a better word. Granger is smart. I can benefit from her, and she can benefit from me. So, back off."

The finality that rung out from Draco's throat was the last reminder Harry would get to leave him be. And the Boy Who Lived recognized the tone of voice for what it was and let things simmer for a while. But when the silence became to much, he began to make small talk, not for the pleasantries that came from talking with Malfoy, but because the silence was just unbearable.

"Hermione hasn't taken us to see your guys' common room yet." Harry informed. No response. "I hear that you two are going to be heads next year," he tried again, still fruitlessly. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"So, uhm, you're going to be planning a —"

"Just shut it with the small talk, okay?" Draco snapped. Huffing in frustration and annoyance, he said in controlled calm, "Look. Me and Granger are getting along a lot better now that we're forced to see each other every day. If Dumbledore hadn't given us these positions, we'd still hate each other and call one another names. Nothing would have changed. Just like nothing between you and I has changed. So just shut up and drop it."

Harry did indeed drop it, and they didn't speak to one another again that night, or the following morning when they were forced to leave the hospital wing.

XXX

When Hermione awoke about an hour later, she was disoriented and not in a pleasant mood at all. As soon as Madam Pomfrey came over to force her to drink a vile tasting potion that was supposed to bring down her fever, Hermione adamantly refused, turning her face away and glaring at the medi-witch.

"Miss Granger, please!" Poppy pleaded, trying to give the stubborn girl her necessary pick-up potions and other essential medicines that would help her to a better and faster recovery.

"I'm fine," Hermione stated, piercing the healer with her determined gaze.

"If you're so sure you're fine, Miss Granger, get up out of bed and walk to the windows and back." Hermione shoved out her chin, and sat up in bed. There was a little twinge of pain on the left side of her chest, but she persevered and stood up.

She didn't make it three steps.

Hermione gasped in agony and fell back onto her bed, tears streaming down her face as stars exploded in front of her. It felt as if a knife had been plunged between her ribs and the attacker was twisting it around and around inside her.

"Just as I thought," Madam Pomfrey crooned, shuffling over to the bed and getting Hermione settled, forcing the disgusting potions down her throat. "Hermione, I have to take a look at you, so please keep still." Brandishing her wand, Poppy whispered an incantation and the wand lit up. However, this wasn't any Lumos spell she had performed.

The charm she had cast forced the wand tip to light, yes, but not to provide light to its holder. No, this was another spell, which showed the medi-witch/wizard inspecting a patient the life force of the person in question. And on this day, Madam Pomfrey was surprised as she waved the wand over Hermione's abdomen.

The light had seemed to split, one half steady, the other, pulsating faintly.

_Oh no. Not Hermione Granger._

XXX

Hermione was released a week later, and she had seen Ron's red hair poking out from behind the privacy curtains. Upon asking Harry what he was doing in there, he refused to tell her. She was furious with him for not updating her on everything that had happened and for also not keeping a detailed list of what homework she was to make up. Everything just wasn't going her way. Especially after the news that Madam Pomfrey had given her on the day she had been discharged.

"Use a concealment charm," she had advised, as she ushered the girl out into the corridor. They had already discussed what was to be done, but it was still at the forefront of the medi-witch's mind. She just couldn't believe she was having this talk with Hermione Granger, of all people.

"I will," Hermione had said. "Like I'd really want people knowing…"

She stalked off back to her common room like a bat out of Hell, ready to tear up Malfoy; it was, after all, his fault, seeing as it was his so called 'friend' that had raped her, nearly killed her, and caused this new problem.

"MALFOY!" she bellowed upon entering the room. He was sitting in one of the couches in front of the fire, dozing, but could anyone really sleep through a yelling Hermione?

Draco sprung up, mumbling, "What's the rush?" Hermione stomped over to the couch, fire burning in her eyes as she bore down on him.

"Did you tell him to?"

"Did I tell who to what?" Draco asked, confused.

"You know _damn_ well who and what I'm talking about, Malfoy!" Hermione screamed, picking up a crystal candy dish and chucking at the blond boy's head.

"HEY!" Draco yelped as the dish went whizzing by his head, bursting on the wall. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Granger!" However, realization suddenly dawned on him and he whispered, "This is about who attacked you, isn't it." It wasn't a question, but a fact. Without saying a word, Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she whisked herself away into her room, slamming the door viciously.

"Granger?" Draco asked, as he timidly approached the door. He heard sobs issuing from behind it, and much to his annoyance, he felt sorry for the girl, and he wanted to help her.

_Damn, _he thought desolately. "Come on, Granger. You don't have to tell me who, but I at least want to know what happened. And wouldn't you rather _someone_ know the truth about what exactly went on? Because you _know_ how Hogwarts is. It's been a week, and there're already rumors going around; from nonsense like you were mauled by a troll, to some such idea that you were dueling with a banshee. And neither of those could possibly be right."

Draco heard the lock click after a few seconds, and he slowly turned the knob and peered inside. Hermione was sitting up against her headboard, knees drawn up to her chest; her nose was slightly pink, and her eyes were puffy and red from shedding tears.

"You know, you look a bit like Rudolph with your nose all red."

This caused Hermione to giggle, and Draco found that he quite enjoyed making the girl laugh. "So, Granger," he said, addressing Hermione with sincerity lacing his voice, "Start whenever you want."

She had never seen this side of him before; never had she thought he _had_ this side of him. Malfoy had always seemed like such a two-dimensional person to Hermione, that he only associated with those who believed the same things as he, and that he only spoke to them about himself. It was a pleasant surprise to Hermione when he just sat there, waiting patiently for her to say something, and above all, he wasn't taunting her about her ordeal.

"It was Crabbe," she said, quite unintentionally. She hadn't meant to tell him that. _Dammit_ she thought. Hermione saw his jaw clench, and didn't speak another word.

"Continue," Draco urged.

So she told him. She poured out her heart to him, about how Crabbe had violated her so thoroughly, how he had left her for dead. How she had _accepted_ death, even welcomed it. She filled him in on the pain she had experienced, and she shared with him every detail of what Crabbe had said and done to her body and mind.

By the time she was finished, an hour had passed, and Draco hadn't interrupted her once. If she had known of the storm that was churning inside him, Hermione would have let him be and took cover. It was a raging hurricane within him, and he couldn't control his temper. Above all, he didn't want to.

"Granger, I apologize for Crabbe," Draco spat, "but believe me, he will _not_ go unpunished for his actions. If it's the last thing I ever do, he will grovel before you and beg your forgiveness. I hate to even _think_ that I had once consorted with that sorry sonofabitch. He will pay. I promise you. I may be a Slytherin, but men abusing women in any way isn't acceptable. Crabbe will be sorry he ever touched a hair on your head."

"Malfoy, really, it's not necessary — "

"YES IT IS!" he screamed, leaping up from his seat. "Don't you see? Because he did it to you, he'll think he can do it to other girls. And I just won't have it! I won't have that filthy slug soiling my house's name more than it already is."

Hermione looked down at her hands, which were busying themselves by mussing up the bed sheets. "Thank you, Malfoy. I didn't think…" Her voice trailed off. This was completely unbelievable. Malfoy was actually defending her.

She looked up when she felt a weight at the foot of her bed, and saw that Draco had once again seated himself there, staring at her intently. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. It was completely out of character, but he had to know. Something inside of him was compelling him to ascertain that she was, indeed, fine.

The girl nodded.

_Okay, you know that she's okay, now you can leave,_ Draco thought. But he didn't leave. Instead, he set his hand upon her cheek and wiped away the tear that had began to fall with his thumb, and whispered, "No more tears, okay? No more tears."

She nuzzled her cheek into his palm unconscientiously, then feebly said, "Okay."

It was then that Draco finally retreated to his own room, leaving Hermione spellbound by how soft his hands were.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, guys, I just have to say that I am soo so so so so so SOOOO terribly sorry for the long wait on this chapter. It's been done for a while, but I normally don't update until the following chapter is done. And I apologize profusely for the wait. Thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm sorry that it took so long, and it probably will be the same for chapter 11. I have it outlined, but I do tend to get very bad writer's block now and again, and with homework almost every night it's getting near impossible to write. But I'm doing my best, just stick with me. Reviews are greatly appreciated! 3

**_Sneak Preview: Halloween's REAL Monster. How does Draco decide to get back at Crabbe for his transgressions against Hermione? And what is our Golden Girl hiding? Keep reading!_**


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